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Blessed be God for thaw, for the
clear drops
that fall, one by one, like clocks
ticking, from
the icicles along the eaves. For
shift and shrinkage,
including the soggy gray mess on the
deck
like an abandoned mattress that has
lost its inner spring. For the gurgle
of gutters, for snow melting
underfoot when I
step off the porch. For slush. For
the glisten
on the sidewalk that only wets the
foot sole
and doesn't send me slithering.
Everything
is alert to this melting, the slow
flow of it,
the declaration of intent, the
liquidation.
Glory be to God for changes. For bulbs
breaking the darkness with their
green beaks.
For moles and moths and velvet green
moss
waiting to fill the driveway cracks.
For the way
the sun pierces the window minutes
earlier each day.
For earthquakes and tectonic
plates-earth's bump
and grind-and new mountains pushing
up
like teeth in a one-year-old. For
melodrama—
lightning on the sky stage, and the
burst of applause
that follows. Praise him for day and
night, and light
switches by the door. For seasons,
for cycles
and bicycles, for whales and
waterspouts,
for watersheds and waterfalls and
waking
and the letter W, for the waxing and
waning
of weather so that we never get
complacent. For all
the world, and for the way it twirls
on its axis
like an exotic dancer. For the north
pole and the
south pole and the equator and
everything between.
Luci Shaw
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