Mary Oliver
Especially at night
It is the best kind of company—
A brother whose dark happiness fills the room,
Who has arrived from a long journey,
Who stands with his back to the windows
Beyond which the branches full of leaves
Are not trees only, but the maelstrom
Lashing, attentive and held in thrall
By the brawn in the rippling octaves,
And the teeth in the smile of the strings.
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