Homemade thanksgiving

after Patrick Rosal


The tide of focus swings to ebb, it’s 3pm

and I surface from slippery currents of paper

rolling my shoulders out of their ammonite curl

in these pyjamas three days overdue for the wash.

I’m heading for the kettle, wading across

the plates of sun paving the boards with warm

- and just like that -  I’m sliding and grooving

and this Lenny Kravitz bass has me swinging

all low and heavy. I’m major key and power chords,

hair of feathers, hands of stars, head thrown back

and I’m light as a cricket but ankle deep in earth,

rocking like the wind through these trees

with no eyes on me but the tiny blue wrens

bouncing across the bells of their garden

where I’m just another creature

flinging itself through this day,

glowing like autumn on the vine

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