Issue 154, Spring 2000
Lord,
I give thanks to You for all of this jumble of life, in which
I am drowning since time immemorial helplessly in dead
earnest
concentrated on an endless search for trifles.
May You be praised for giving me lowly buttons,
pins, suspenders, eyeglasses, rivers of ink, always
hospitable blank sheets of paper, transparent covers,
folders that are patient,
waiting.
Lord, I give thanks to You for syringes with needles thick
and thin as
a hair, bandages, all sorts of Band-Aids, the humble
compress, thanks
for intravenous drips, saline solutions, cannulas and
above all
for sleeping pills with names like Roman nymphs
which are good because they beg, they recall, they take
the place of
death.