all poems are thirsty and happy

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So I’ve been pondering this line about “happy, thirsty, poems” from Mary Oliver’s poem, The Poetry Teacher, for a couple of weeks now.  I wish I had been in her class, don’t you?  I’ve decided that all poems are thirsty and/or happy.  This poem began (18 revisions ago) by looking at the synonyms and antonyms of “thirsty.”

I wake up thirsty
and drink
cool water.
 
I walk,
yearning for vision,
and plan the next hours in my day.
 
I work,
longing for my heart and soul to be filled up,
and return home
craving solitude.
Closing my eyes,
I drink in stillness
and peace.
 
Reflecting on the world around me,
I pray,
wanting the impossible,
seeking wisdom.
I write words
overflowing.
 
Finally quenched
by the active thirstiness
and gifts of my day,
I sleep.
 
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