Maybe I should sit and write my sonnet,
and praise on this late birthday all my mates,
the far-off poets and the emailed sages,
the bosom-chums who've known me forty years.

Maybe I should pause in kitchen-light,
drinking 1 a.m. coffee, pause to give thanks
for being midway through---yikes!---Decade Six
in wonky body, passably sound mind.

Certainly, I should rosary my blessings,
and whisper merci on each wooden bead,
and ask the Gracious Light to fill my heart

to overflowing, that it shines through me
on others in my nest and neighbourhood,
and, through my words, on every foe and friend.