Gifts

In the prison of his days
Teach the free man how to praise.
—Auden, “In Memory of W.B. Yeats”

In the past I drove many bargains of God.
Let me O Lord at least
Go here, see there, accomplish this
One little, one last
Thing before I die.
Then I will be satisfied.
Many He granted, mischievous.
A lover of practical jokes.

I no longer bargain, now. There are no more
Deals to strike. Only gifts
And their craters. Only to learn
To welcome another morning,
To weep but not to curse, smear, break oaths.
Only to praise: the strangest,
The blackest work for warped hands,
Scattered minds, hearts
Of dried blood.

Gate D98, November 2021

Pepper on Scrap Paper, Watercolor, Ink, and Pencil