We praise you, Father, for your gifts
of sun and water on the rocks,
for doughnuts, fried to taste like
smothered in maple-bacon-chocolate-raspberry.
A small thanks, growing into heart-bursts of praise,
for the sitting together in the warm summer sun,
and watch the sunlight glisten on the lazy waterfall,
follow the small avian dramas of the mallards and the ungainly goose with
blotchy red patches on his beak try to win a mallard lady.
Sitting in Denise's Greenville park, on the damp stone wall, under the quiet trees,
sharing together the words and stillness that make up a a friendship,
my soul relaxes into silence as my tongue sings in her native tongue.
All these moments, I trust, will fade one day into an eternal moment.
Watching the squirrels scamper along the stream's banks,
it seems impossible that the end of all our movement is darkness and nothing.
The impossible, incessant march of existence must lead yet another rhythm,
a motion that encompasses our silence, the way our quiet speaks volumes.
In the sunlight of the park, I think I have a foretaste of that end,
as I turn my soul into a sponge to soak up each moment,
to drink the happiness from each ray of sunlight in the park.
We thank you, Father, for your gifts
of light and laughter in our speech,
for beers shared,
for pains bridged,
for sorrows borne,
for boys lost,
for boys to come,
for kittens mewing at our doors,
for love that leads to endless day