You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body love
what it loves. Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell
you mine. Meanwhile the world goes on. Meanwhile the
sun and the clear pebbles of the rain are moving across
the landscapes, over the prairies and the deep trees, the
mountains and the rivers. Meanwhile the wild geese, high in
the clean blue air, are heading home again. Whoever you are,
no matter how lonely, the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting — over and over
announcing your place in the family of things.