Sleeping In The Forest by Mary Oliver
 
 I thought the earth
 remembered me, she
 took me back so tenderly, arranging
 her dark skirts, her pockets
 full of lichens and seeds.  I slept
 as never before, a stone
 on the riverbed, nothing
 between me and the white fire of the stars
 but my thoughts, and they floated
 light as moths among the branches
 of the perfect trees.  All night
 I heard the small kingdoms breathing
 around me, the insects, and the birds
 who do their work in the darkness.  All night
 I rose and fell, as if in water, grappling
 with a luminous doom.  By morning
 I had vanished at least a dozen times
 into something better.