On cold evenings
my grandmother,
with ownership of half her mind
– the other half having flown back to Bohemia –spread newspapers over the porch floor
so, she said, the garden ants could crawl beneath,
as under a blanket, and keep warm,and what shall I wish for, for myself,
but, being so struck by the lightning of years,
to be like her with what is left, that loving.– Mary Oliver from New and Selected Poems: Volume Two