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Morning Worship

by
 I wake and hearing it raining.
Were I dead, what would I give Lazily to lie here, Like this, and live? Or better yet: birdsong, Brightening and spreading -- How far would I come then To be at the world's wedding? Now that I lie, though, Listening, living, (Oh, but not forever, Oh, end arriving) How shall I praise them: All the sweet beings Eternally that outlive Me and my dying? Mountains, I mean; wind, water, air; Grass, and huge trees; clouds, flowers, And thunder, and night.
Turtles, I mean, and toads; hawks, herons, owls; Graveyards, and towns, and trout; roads, gardens, Red berries, and deer.
Lightning, I mean, and eagles; fences; snow; Sunrise, and ferns; waterfalls, serpents, Green islands, and sleep.
Horses, I mean; butterflies, whales; Mosses, and stars and gravelly Rivers, and fruit.
Oceans, I mean; black valleys; corn; Brambles, and cliffs; rock, dirt, dust, ice; And warnings of flood.
How shall I name them? And in what order? Each would be first.
Omission is murder.
Maidens, I mean, and apples; needles; leaves; Worms, and planers, and clover; whirlwinds; dew; Bulls; geese -- Stop.
Lie still.
You will never be done.
Leave them all there.
Old lover.
Live on.

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