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Gratefulness
The grass seems lusher in the wet gray air,
but less approachable now through a thick curtain of pouring rain.
The day before I leave your home,
crimson urn on the dark cherry coffee table, picture windows framing the lagoon –
all more beautiful, knowing I won’t see them for another year.
As though I look at them through something like
this curtain of rain.
More beautiful, but beautiful still on all the days before.
I used to envy the simply grateful, who, without needing
separation or loss,
would lift their heads from their busy supper or book
and revel in the steam from a teacup winding its slow way to nothingness in the air,
or just the teacup catching the window’s tiny parallelogram of light.
Posted by kind permission of the poet. First published on Rattle, 2008.
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