Praying with Fringes 7/11/2014 – cramming the black honey of summer into my mouth

August Mary Oliver When the blackberries hang swollen in the woods, in the brambles nobody owns, I spend all day among the high branches, reaching my ripped arms, thinking of nothing, cramming the black honey of summer into my mouth; all day my body accepts what it is. In the dark creeks that run by … Continue reading Praying with Fringes 7/11/2014 – cramming the black honey of summer into my mouth