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“That night, you turn in your bed to watch the moon rise, and once more see what a small coin it is against the darkness, and how everything else is a mystery, and you know nothing at all except the moonlight is beautiful – white rivers running together along the bare boughs of the trees – and somewhere, for someone, life is becoming moment by moment unbearable. (From Beaver Moon – The Suicide of a Friend, in Twelve Moons by Mary Oliver)” — Mary Oliver
That night, you turn in your bed
to watch the moon rise, and once more
see what a small coin it is
against the darkness, and how everything else
is a mystery, and you know
nothing at all except
the moonlight is beautiful –
white rivers running together
along the bare boughs of the trees –
and somewhere, for someone, life
is becoming moment by moment
unbearable.
(From Beaver Moon – The Suicide of a Friend, in Twelve Moons by Mary Oliver)