Ephesians 1:16
						
I do not cease to give thanks, especially in November
even as we lose an hour of light, drawing
the curtains at 4:30 to keep out the cold.  To remember
you are dust seems appropriate now.  Crows are cawing

black elegies in the bare trees.  Just past the Day of the Dead,
and I'm thankful for every friend who has blessed
my life, gold coins in a wooden chest.  Who said
no man is an island?  We're all peninsulas, I guess,

joined to the mainland, part of the shore.  We're the sticks
in the bundle that can't be broken.  Even if
it doesn't seem that way, the bickering of politics,
the blather on the nightly news.  Maybe we speak in hieroglyphs,
unclear, always missing the mark?  So let me be plain.
I'm grateful for the days of sun.  I'm grateful for the rain.