Anthem

 

I will praise my maker but not today—here in a green study

at my desk arranged like battle lines 

I’ve nature “tooth and claw” 

and two blind eyes. (I’ve more than this— 

shirts and shoes, 

my children’s clothes, 

abnormal psychology, 

doubts cast in books.)

May praise be scattered like old prayers

til it enters the wheat. May I carve 

with a penknife on a door 

whispers of my household.

 

May God wait in irregular shadows.