Three Days with No Sun

i believe in seasons --
but this is ridiculous.

i believe in rhythms,
but a rhythm requires
regularity, alternation,
syncopation --
some state that changes,
some mood that banishes
this continent of gray flannel
that floats over my frosted town.

The day has three phases:

kind of dark,
and dark.

And yet
i will give thanks:

for another brief breath
i am singing through telephone wires
sighing into a child's tousled hair

watching a squirrel eat an apple
laughing at bumper stickers

listening to a jazz guitar
on a scratchy LP
and understanding
that one solitary blink of an eyelash,
one tear,
one dented smile
is an untold bounty

that only You can give --
and given You have,
with constancy
outshining all ambition
and all hope,
and lasting even until
the Sun decides
at last
to shine again.

--Mr. Gobley

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