Bless the soft rain that falls in shell holes.

Bless the earth, blasted apart,

the earthworm softening the soil.

 

Bless the grass seed that settles here,

the bindweed burying rusted tanks.

Bless nature for hiding sin.

 

Bless the dead, for remaining dead,

the hedgehogs in no-man’s-land

who feast on bodies with the rats.

 

Bless the soldier in a plastic poncho

cradling his machinegun. Bless the

women on a bicycle bringing him piroshki.

 

Bless the soft rain falling in shell holes,

the heavy clouds for returning today. Bless

the river washing engine oil to the sea.

 

Bless destroyed villages, their empty stoves,

their unharvested apricot trees, their inhabitants

who lie down to sleep in distant beds.

 

Bless the storks for rebuilding here, bless

the twigs they place on burned up treetops,

their long, slow wings as they flap away.