Let me remember the stoic things,
the stable, stolid, standing things. The rocks
slowly cracked by ice and roots,
the lightninged pine, the holed hemlock,
the bass awaiting a winter blocked by ice.
Remember too the daily sun, the running
stream, the deer-stripped maple leafing again.

And here I sit, pondering,
my heavy head, my anxious heart, my soft bottom
by granite.