Easy today to praise the snow
a sparkling settled on all the world,
and easy to praise the oranges
that arrived bringing sunshine
from far away.
Easy to praise the sky as it clears
and easy to praise the wind
as it blows the storm away.
Less easy to praise the moment
between night and dawn
when I would rather be sleeping
than praising.
Less easy to praise the song
that insists on replaying
inside my head.
Less easy still to praise
the sorrow, though
its roots are in great love.
But bless the poem
for offering the chance
to discover praise.
And bless the praise,
for showing up despite
sorrow, despite fear.
Praise the longing
to praise, may it ever
insist on itself, like
grasses that poke
through the snow in the field,
like the sunshine
inside the clementine,
like a poem past midnight
that refuses to let me sleep.