I Asked the Gods

I asked the gods, the ones I don’t believe in,
And the muses, who I’ve met personally,
To bring me the gifts I don’t deserve.
First came the bird songs
Which greeted me this morning
Well before the Earth leaned into the sun,
The scratching of mice raiding the larder
The dog’s moist nose sniffing my face
Bodily functions I take for granted
Standing, sitting, seeing, walking.
The gift of toothbrushes and running water
All before coffee, that exotic brown seed
Harvested by the hands of brown men
Traveling across seas and continents
From Africa, South America, and Hawaii
From Ethiopia, Peru, and Sumatra
Each bean a blessing,
The names of nations prayers for peace.
Daring to step outside.
The sound of morning bells
The riot of colors
Plants reaching for clouds
Aware they too
Are moving with the aid of wind.
Did I mention the air itself?
The miracle of breath
Oxygen molecules traveling along arterial rivers
Depositing their cargo amongst millions of small cellular entities
That extract the very essence of life
And give back the carbonic elements
That plants feed on.
When did the word purple become a phrase of praise?
And where did all those prayer flags waving in the breeze come from?
The branches of trees bouncing as birds land and lift off from them
The spruce tree
The shed filled with tools and other implements of wonder
Forgotten photographs
Long unused sports equipment
The evidence of creatures who’ve built nests in drawers
Where they have wintered and reproduced
Remembering just now that these eyes are open
That there really is light, and sight. and joy
Just sitting.