11/27/2016

1.
bless the hand that
should rest on my
abdomen, the finger
that fills the navel
the way space makes
room for a planet.

2.
bless the electricity
that goes out into
night, winter, and
comes back in a century
bearing photons, glass
beads, dead stars.

3.
bless the eye like a
lighthouse keeper’s
face; passive,
full of hands reaching
for the almost drowned.

4.
bless the work of tomorrow
always the seed of
tormorrow, triassic
promise of the rose’s
coming, hope and its
vegetable fires.

5.
bless the artist’s hand
that will shape a face in
thin air, the unartistic
hand that loves air, the
carpenter that, with
five deft strokes
constructs a face
a vowel, from a stump
and exclaims this, this
wood is what I came for.