there is only one question

I went out for a walk this evening, and while I was walking through the park during golden hour, looking at the spring flowers and enjoying both the gorgeous weather and being out of my house for the first time in a week, I thought, "today is a Mary Oliver day." But the truth is that I try to live every day of my life as though it's a Mary Oliver day.

Somewhere
    a black bear
        has just risen from sleep
            and is staring

down the mountain.
    All night
        in the brisk and shallow restlessness
            of early spring

I think of her,
    her four black fists
        flicking the gravel,
            her tongue

like a red fire
    touching the grass,
        the cold water.
            There is only one question;

how to love this world.
    I think of her
        rising
            like a black and leafy ledge

to sharpen her claws against
    the silence
        of the trees.
            Whatever else

my life is
    with its poems
        and its music
            and its glass cities,

it is also this dazzling darkness
    coming
        down the mountain,
            breathing and tasting;

all day I think of her—
    her white teeth,
        her wordlessness,
            her perfect love.

—Mary Oliver (1935-2019), "Spring," from House of Light, 1990.