When I think of thanks,
I think of you and I think too
of them—of her and her
and her and him—

And all that blue that is the opposite of sky—
that blue inside me that wails at times
like a saxophone in the night
(only it’s not just at night).

That hue that seems to blue my very bones,
to make even my joints lonely—
(How can a knee
be forlorn? How can an elbow feel
They are joints! Per se connected!)

But if, in that dejection,
I can think of thanks—even just the word—
my mind is lured to you, to them,
and all that is torn
is joined anew (roughly, but
the knee bends, the arm extends—
and that inner blue becomes lent sky,
and everything shows itself
to be a part of everything else—
the trees, the stones, the tones
of that saxophone, even what feels so lone—sky inside
and out,
sky all about. 


Here’s kind of a draft poem that has been on my mind. Of course, it is an adult poem, and the drawing is a children’s drawing–an illustration from my picture book Lightly Going Things, but I liked the ebullience of the pic. (And of course the elephants!) That picture book is soon to be available on Amazon, with others of mine.

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