The Fist by Mary Oliver

The Fist

There are days

when the sun goes down

like a fist,

though of course

if you see anything 

in the heavens

in this way

you had better get

your eyes checked

or, better still,

your diminished spirit.

The heavens

have no fist,

or would they have been

shaking it

for a thousand years now,

and even longer than that,

at the dull, brutish

ways of mankind --

heaven's own 

creation?

Instead: such patience!

Such willingness 

to let us continue!

To hear,

little by little,

the voices --

only, so far, in 

pockets of the world --

suggesting 

the possibilities

of peace?

Keep looking.

Behold, how the fist opens

with invitation.