Thank you, God, for thank you–the very act
Of saying I’m grateful shifts my molecules
Into a kick-ass bell choir formation backed
By saxophones. Seriously, it’s like the rules
Say, “find something you didn’t conjure
Up yourself like your breath, heartbeat,
Or a strawberry, and just add wow. Sure,
Pulse, respiration, and fruit to eat
Become quickly unnoticeable in the whir
Of electricity we’ve managed to channel into
depressive distractions grasped in our palms. These
Hands can open in humble receipt, though–renew
The remember that we hold grace-forged keys.
Thank you, God, for thank you–this technology
Plenishes this story maker’s scarce mythology.
