WEBVTT

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I think because of the
state of my throat,

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I'm going to read five
more poems, four of which

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are linked.

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Naturally, I'll read
those four together.

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Here's the one that's
not part of that series.

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It's called "Thanksgiving."

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They have come again
to graze the orchard,

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knowing they will be denied.

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The leaves have fallen
on the dry ground.

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The wind makes piles of them,
sorting all it destroys.

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What doesn't move,
the snow will cover.

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It will give them away.

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Their hooves make patterns
which the snow remembers.

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In the cleared field, they
linger, as the summoned prey

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whose part is not to forgive.

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They can afford to die.

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They have their place
in the dying order.

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