Reading so many beautiful poems of gratitude and thanks-giving this week, I wanted to share this, from my last book, Crazing:


The storm drives all ashore—thrown stick with dogteeth, twig of twisted pine,

thumbnail jellyfish with dark sails fallen, torn kelp, fouled ballast, soapy olivine foam.

Everyone here has the same story.

We are blown here out of sight of ourselves, staggering and dismayed.

Yet we are perfect — without ladder or pyramid, pinnacle or pietà

perfect, perfect, perfect, perfect—
as one would say this, this, this, this

seeing, in this dire wind, what there is to worship.

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