Gratitude

I am grateful for this day,
For this purity of air
Rinsed through the onrushing clouds
Embarking upon their perpetual
Journey with softness, with the cycles
Of coming and going, with the wind
Which grows within me,
Throughout me, throughout this sky
Wrapping me like a blanket of lapis.

Summer is always an explosion
And the morning rain reminds us
Of our reliance upon surrender,
Giving in to what comes,
What goes, and what returns;
What returns may have never left,
These clouds that pick up where they
Left off, returning from memory,
Describing clock-work: the secrets
Of seasons are written
By fluttering leaves and the prodigal
Water, secret messages carried
By flocking geese and butterfly
Armadas.

This Earth is our song,
Our flag of our solemn being,
Profound mystery and the only thing
We could ever love--
If such a thing were possible--
With her daily ritual
Waking me with this familiarity,
With this gratitude.