Thanksgiving Poem by Mark Sauer

If I am clay, seawater, and lightening
And nothing more - still the clay is thankful.
If guttering flame, dimming, brightening,
Snuffed to smoke - yet the wisp is grateful.
If I am only a flickering mote
Aware one instant of infinitude
In a vastness that does not care nor note,
Yet the ash fleck proffers its gratitude.
If mind is irrefutable error
And God the daydream of an addled race
Of ape; still I, this speck, refuse despair,
Grasping this one truth - the undeserved grace
Of Being. Suffice this here, now, this me;
I earned not this, much less eternity.