Poppies br Mary Oliver br br The poppies send up their br orange flares; swaying br in the wind, their congregations br are a levitation br br of bright dust, of thin br and lacy leaves. br There isn't a place br in this world that doesn't br br sooner or later drown br in the indigos of darkness, br but now, for a while, br the roughage br br shines like a miracle br as it floats above everything br with its yellow hair. br Of course nothing stops the cold, br br black, curved blade br from hooking forward— br of course br loss is the great lesson. br br But I also say this: that light br is an invitation br to happiness, br and that happiness, br br when it's done right, br is a kind of holiness, br palpable and redemptive.