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Grace
For night's envy of the blackness of crows
I am thankful
For the election of crows
For the distances crows do not in straight lines travel
And for the spackling of crows
at the first throw of a cold front
in the Manistee National Forest
(somewhere between Hell
and Paradise) I am thankful
For the distances I have traveled in the meantime
I am thankful
And for the Potomac River
the wonder of it to raise
a white reflection of monuments
even on a day like this
I am thankful
For the crow-oil of the Potomac
For the distance it covers
under cover of darkness
For both the rain and the absence of rain
I am thankful
For the slick marble of rude monuments
For the brick-tinged leaves
scuttling the yellow runways of airports
and car parks I am thankful
For the rain of cellular transparency
(For the rain dark in your hair, for the rain
darkening the roan mare
in its gray-fenced pasture . . .)
For the rain that falls in the forest west of here
which surfaces as from a Great Lake
and becomes, in effect, the rain
that falls on the sculpture gardens
and hotels of cities
great distances away
For that, I am thankful
For circulation I am thankful
And for the morning light
and for mornings without light
and for this light before morning
in a city of white monuments
Shame on my sadness! Shame on my loss!
Shame on my unused running shoes
cooling their heels
in the vacancy of a walk-in closet
hundreds of miles from here
(the way the crow flies)!
Shame on central air! Shame on the hungers
of the homeless!
For crows blacker than the cold Potomac
I am thankful
For the lesson of your loving
I am thankful
I am thankful
For the politics of crows
—for Jane
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