thomas lux
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!
No comments:
Post a Comment