At Blackwater Pond

by Mary Oliver

At Blackwater Pond the tossed waters have settled 

after a night of rain. 

I dip my cupped hands. I drink 

a long time. It tastes 

like stone, leaves, fire. It falls cold 

into my body, waking the bones. I hear them 

deep inside me, whispering 

oh what is that beautiful thing 

that just happened?