Tuesday, November 30, 2004
This poem comes by way of Philip, who left it as a comment for Jilbur. It was new to me, and I loved its evocation of the everyday, the small, even perhaps the annoying as being cause for thanksgiving. Thank you, Philip.
Poem in Thanks
Lord Whoever, thank you for this air
I'm about to in- and exhale, this hutch
in the woods, the wood for fire,
the light-both lamp and the natural stuff
of leaf-back, fern, and wing.
For the piano, the shovel
for ashes, the moth-gnawed
blankets, the stone-cold water
stone-cold: thank you.
Thank you, Lord, coming for
to carry me here -- where I'll gnash
it out, Lord, where I'll calm
and work, Lord, thank you
for the goddamn birds singing!
- Thomas Lux