Night after night br darkness br enters the face br of the lily br which, lightly, br closes its five walls br around itself, br and its purse br of honey, br and its fragrance, br and is content br to stand there br in the garden, br not quite sleeping, br and, maybe, br saying in lily language br some small words br we can’t hear br even when there is no wind br anywhere, br its lips br are so secret, br its tongue br is so hidden – br or, maybe, br it says nothing at all br but just stands there br with the patience br of vegetables br and saints br until the whole earth has turned around br and the silver moon br becomes the golden sun – br as the lily absolutely knew it would, br which is itself, isn’t it, br the perfect prayer?br br Mary Oliverbr br