Gratitude
exhumed,
where you thought were only
blinding mist
and toxic fumes–
not for the blessings obvious,
those ones for which,
you’ve probably done and said your piece,
but for those
obscured or buried
in densely thorned
and tangled thickets
or stately stands
of gnarled, dark trees,
where lurk the dubiouses
and the ordinaries,
whose annoying,
+++++or else boring,
qualities
you have laid bare
time and again
to face the scrutiny
of many,
those ready, willing,
and others, whom you have dragged in,
to be your probing and discerning juries
to cogitate, deliberate,
and pronounce worthy of their sympathy
your arm-long list of sorry worries
and clocked complaints
in triplicate. . .
Complaint seemed comfortable and sweet,
but now the sweet’s set in decay,
and’s turned to cloying. . .
a different satisfaction
arises from this mess
as the very best prospect
for a process
that you’re bound to find
more deep-enjoying.
Why not try this?
Drop, toss, or maybe merely set
complaints and worries old
aside a bit,
and open up
and see if you
can let whatever benefits
+++++(In winter’s cloak of dark, a candle flickering gold?
+++++Or the sad, sweet feeling of a parting, fleeting kiss?)
be welcome in your heart,
to warm and sharpen in your eyes,
and try whatever detriments are there–
on road, in field, in house or flesh or bones–
see if they’ll serve you
in another guise–
+++++perhaps, as stepping stones
or else recede, fade back–
+++++(even if you clutch them still quite close
+++++to brace against all sudden change)–
maybe they’ll turn uninteresting and blurry.
And, in their stead,
find some joyful, fruitful, life-sent thing,
like needed water, air or bread,
on which to conduct
a flip-side kind of noticing
in your brand-new, bright-eyed query.
The Danforth Anchor 