What Gift

Great are the works of the Lord,

  to be pondered by all who love them.

                                                                                 Psalm 110:2

                                                                                                              Google Images

What gift 

each morning:

the sun cupped 

in the orange-rose and gold-

turquoise hands of God,

spilling 

over 

the dark fists of trees

just uncurling

their fingers of light;

over 

the disheveling straw-

shine

shuffling through 

the disarray 

of the parching fields;

what is settling 

to sleep 

or surrendering

into the deep 

opening 

 beneath. 

And then, the extravagance 

of crows

flying up

from all that is shimmering,

their wings like flakes

of pitch-

black night

blowing back 

into the heaped congregations 

of the blinding stars.