I love Alice Oswald's poetry. Visual, subtle, essential.
The Mustard Field - Alice Oswald
From love to light my element
was altered when I fled
out of your house to meet the space
that blows about my head.
The sun was rude and sensible,
the rivers ran for hours
and whoops I found a mustard field
exploding into flowers;
and I slowly came to sense again
the thousand forms that move
all summer through a living world
that grows without your love.
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