PRAISE

start wherever you are:
bathing a baby—that gleaming
that drunken joy
of brand-new skin and soap

a mountain-side in Wyoming
cloud-shadows racing
across its flanks like a troop
of dolphins

even the glint of a bit of tinfoil
a gleam in the gutter
even the haunting song of a distant
freight-train

these moments when praise
comes home to me
as once in Chiapas
the worn stone floor of the church

three zinnias offered up
in a Coke bottle
one melting candle and
just enough light to pray by