What there is to worship


For all of you, with my deepest gratitude, on this Thanksgiving day.


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

thumbnail jellyfish with dark sails fallen, 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.

From Crazing, 2015.

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