By Thomas Lux

Lord Whoever, thank you for this air I'm about to in- and exhale, 
this hutch in the woods, the wood for fire, 
the light- both lamp and the natural stuff 
of leaf-back, fern, and wing.
For the piano, the shovel 
for ashes, the moth-gnawed 
blankets, the stone-cold water 
stone-cold: thank you.
Thank you, Lord, coming for 
to carry me here- where I'll gnash 
it out, Lord, where I'll calm 
and work, Lord, thank you 
for the goddamn birds singing!