I am thankful for the many-faceted glass,
the bending panes through which I perceive my own shadow.
I am thankful for the ever-pouring rain
on a day I can’t bear to say stop or anything but
I am thankful for the unending consumption of ages,
the lore of hidden passageways and adrenaline without consequence
resounding in my head.
I am thankful for the tree pushing through my garden, forcing its
small weight, a statement, into the still air.
I am thankful for remembering, when others seem to forget.
I am thankful for that winter when I put my hand on yours and our roles were reversed and
I was so glad you were alive.
I am thankful for the suspension of time as I read in some ill-lighted place,
my shadow stuck close to me.
I am thankful for the opening of my eyes each time I blink in
tiny sorrowful gifts and I believe this,
no matter what.
I am thankful for the snow outside my window yesterday,
(though I forgot to say it)
and today, and tomorrow,
even if I’m not there to receive it.
I am thankful for the thought of receiving
against the backdrop of uncertain tomorrows.