You lift my heart and I praise You, Lord.
You lift my heart and I praise You; I praise You
in the jay in the bare branches of March 1st beside the house,
in the puddle in the pothole
reflecting the sky and the utility lines,
I praise you Lord in the neighbor’s flag,
in his ornamental plums, in his child’s training wheels,
I lift You
in my heart
and I praise you, Lord.
In my new, still-almost-white PSU hoodie, in my ripped jeans,
in my barefeet at the glass-topped patio table on the front porch,
with this cup of strong black tea with milk and sugar
and this miserable Marlboro, delighting
in the mild March 1st peace and plenty in this kind
home for wayward boys, drunks and felons all alive-o
recovering in peace and plenty and hope:
You lift up in my heart and I praise You, Lord, I praise You.