by Anne Thomas
I thank you, Lord,
for the clear, cool curve of the invisible sky
Dissolved in the implausible rust that throbs on the mountainside.
For eyes pooling light, for light glazing grass
that quivers under fly leg and wind-lick.
I thank you for bones plumb between muscles
and veins branching unbroken from finger to lung.
For nerves drinking air and air dusting to night,
for a face open to the moon.
Though the next night be seared and shattered,
this one breathes, pond-dark with stars.
Anne Thomas is currently applying for graduate school in ecology but sometimes she writes poems.
