Give thanks, O my soul,
For the thus-ness of being!
For the is-ness and yes-ness,
For tasting and seeing,
For was-ness we rest on
For will-be ahead,
For grandchildren’s children
Not dreaming us dead,
Cry “glory!” my nostrils
When caressed or assaulted,
(Dog dirt and rose-breath
Are equally vaulted!)
For was-ness of children
Reposed in the soil,
For the flame of far-ancient life;
Coal and lamp oil,
For the may-ness of love,
Or a tongue’s furtive touch,
For the senses’ rich banquet;
Too little, too much.