God Song

When the sun rouses
The slight slumber of the world at dawn,
As the clock hands circle
Round their alarm
Like the shadow that recedes
Across the longitude of continents,
While physicists and prophets
Set the time till midnight,
I praise.

Praise for the morning sun
That sounds the world with eye song.
Praise for the flight of pigeons
And their dung-washed nests,
Scourge of gables.
Praise for the meltwater and streams
Of early spring.
Praise for the flow of rivers to the sea.

Praise for the dander of dandelions,
Crabgrass and all weeds.
Praise for the flight of honeybees,
Fireflies and fleas.

Praise be
For evening mists,
Shroud of thought, tent of conversation.
Praise be
For the fury of lovers
That bleeds upon the world.
Praise be
For nations
Calm by their surging, ebbing seas.

When the world turns over in its dark slumber
And bats dive and rise for prey
In their blind orbits,
While April blows the sweet odors
Of honeysuckle, apple and cherry blossoms
Over the streaming, hurried highways,
I praise.


—Eric Nelson