Grateful for the coming day, its restoration powers
For your cherished breathing in the early hours
Grateful for the base camp and the precipice,
The hope of Absolution for every artifice.
Grateful for the riddles - the closed eyes of the mole;
The meekness of the Shire Horse, the frailty of the foal
Grateful for the fragrance of the varnished pew,

Those long gone Chapel Sundays that yearned for 'all things new’

Grateful

Grateful for the constant awe of the sparrow’s breath
That the weeping elephant has rituals for death
Grateful for the ghostly hem of Autumn’s wading mists
For the prophet’s folly that Truth, each day, persists
Grateful for the perfume of the cattle stall,
And the spider’s silver shawl on a graveyard wall
Grateful for the crimson peaks magnanimous with gorse
And the heights of conscience on the mountains of remorse

I’m Grateful

Grateful for The Rockies and the Bobcat’s cryptic call,
The copper canvas of New England in the Fall
Grateful for beloved Wales, the Gower in the Spring,
The stones of Bannau Brycheiniog, from which the poems sing
And I’m Grateful for the Thomas boy, his epic habitat,
The song of Polly Garter and the dreams of Captain Cat
And I’m Grateful for the abstract, the complex and the odd,
The quarter-tone transcendence of the countless octaves God

I’m Grateful

Grateful for the icon in the ancient crypt,
Gold-leaf exultation of the sacred script
Grateful for precise machines that chart the body’s land
The slippage in the cells, and the fault line in a gland
I’m Grateful there’s a countdown on this limited dimension
Grateful for the skylark’s hint of infinite ascension
And I’m Grateful for becalming, on this fathomless morass,
And the tempest life-belt, assuring us that all things shall pass
And Grateful I’m not destined or determined by my mood
When my capricious state turns sick of all this gratitude
And I’m Grateful that I’m feeling in such a fractured disarray
And that I’m not responsible for the final say

Grateful,
Grateful