Thanksgiving

The heart knows, even if it can’t believe:

to you we are a fine crop in a record year,

a windfall you keep counting

to be sure it’s true

while your hearts races

and you dream

about new chances you have now.

The heart knows, even when it can’t believe:

to you we are a gift a lover leaves

at the door, then rings the bell

and runs away to watch

from behind a tree

your face break into light,

your happiness increase.