On looking into Mary Oliver’s Blue Horses

On looking into Mary Oliver’s Blue Horses
I found the volume
      With Franz Marc’s
          Turm der blauen Pferde
(painted after the founding of Der Blaue Reiter, before the disbanding of the group not two years later)
Not discarded,
      Not missing,
          But placed for me to find, in Zürich,
Nestled
      In a windowsill
          In a square in the old town,
The horses
      Called over to me.
          Unforetold but not unexpected
And bade me listen,
      Listen to her ailing voice
          Reading to me from Cape Cod,
Blue horizons
      Full of fish, full of clams,
          Full of poorness, full of being.
(Zürich is a city for finding lost things)
I am reading Mary Oliver’s poem
      Franz Marc’s Blue Horses
          On the train to Münich, the city of Marc’s birth
I listen
      To her light-as-a-bird laugh
          As I pick out on a napkin
Her words,
      His words, my words,
I am free,
          I am free