Poem praising everything

God, who gave us the pistachio nut
praise, and the flurry of blossoms
on cherry and plum, praise, that scent the air
ecstatic, the heavy swoon
of opening magnolias, and those globes
among the leaves, of orange,
apricot, or quince, and tall grassy
asparagus spikes, and the call
of red-winged blackbirds, the haunting
owl, and the voice of the rain
as it slips away, praise,
and potatoes, fat seeds of the earth
that feed us, wistaria's cascade, and grapes,
plump pendants of patient vines,
and garlic, praise, and the glaze
of buttergold on peas and corn; and our lakes
with so much sky in them,
and trees that dwarf all thought,
praise, under the night sky
dazzled with stars.

And salt — that of tears and afflictions,
coarse diamonds tasting of our past:
of oceans and pillars of pain,
and the savour of earth's banquet, tiny grains
dissolving on our tongues, containing
copper, carbon, vanadium, cobalt,
antimony, indium, argon, silver.

The imperceptible movement of time
that catches us unaware
as if years had passed while we read
the Sunday paper, forgetting ourselves,
and the seasons, how the cold,
stark branches quicken to the touch of spring,
praise, the half moon and the full
the half smile and the embrace
of man and woman, and the child's
life, praise, and the bright eyes
of the old person, praise, and death.

Leave nothing out.
Not the ignorance
of those who lie and steal
not the selfishness of others
nor you own, not violence or pain,
neither villain nor hero,
or the unremarkable.

Not the mist that rises after rain,
not sunlight sluicing through the redwooods.
Include the tea rose and the peony,
and the friend you invited to supper.

Be like the earth, which, at the last,
cradles the ruthless along with the kind
and each one, stilled in unfathomable depths,
forgives.