Give Thanks

For peeling my cape from the stigma, so the wind will not carry me up, so the air is worth loving, because I cannot have it.

For frailty, when I will remember God wetting my cheek all the time. He cries rough against my neck, and laughs, because we are brothers this way, frustrated with the other.

Knowledge of Life and Death. For transience: it means only to stop spinning, dear.

For stripping the pretense down to the pale falling chest.

For love, which is sad in its context.

For the glare of a snowbank so I may rest and be numb

For the words I stumble to whisper in my teeth.

For listening to the wind I used to know, beating memory from our heads. For sailing closer, pressing completely, and we cannot remember whose breath.