Mary Oliver (1935-2019) was an American poet whose poetry focused on the natural world and our relationship to it. She spent most of her life in Ohio and in New England.
August, by Mary Oliver
When the blackberries hang
swollen in the woods, in the brambles
nobody owns, I spend
all day among the high
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 there is
this thick paw of my life darting among
the black bells, the leaves; there is
this happy tongue.