Gratitude, I am your listening post,
perched on the shoulders of mountains,
in the grasses, in your granite faces,
reclining in the long valleys of your body.
Send me your chariots, your champion angels,
warriors of the spirit, whose love rises in speech,
in gesture, in wordless looks,
bathed in sublime rose waters;
even in anguish for the suffering of others.
Send me your thoroughbreds, heavy with bridle;
I will race alongside you, breathing my thanksgiving
for the idealism of youth, for the wild and holy power
of the earnest novitiate;
for conversations between fathers, mothers,
sons and daughters, blooming in the
rising cumulus of purity and courage, in
the altitudes of high regard, the vitality of innocence,
the awakening of inquiry.
Let me travel beside you,
raining down with the pounding hooves
of your galloping love.