The count

Some days the count matters more than others.  How far along am I?  Have I reached some magical time when everything counts (or I don*t have to count anymore?).  I thought by now I*d have it straightened out.  I think I*ll be counting in some way, somehow, for the rest of my life.  It seems I need constant reminders that it*s all been counted already.  I*ve been counted already and the gift is mine in abundance, and so I can give.    Not count.  

This is for all my friends

Who count hours,

Paid and unpaid,

Supervised

And Un.

We are still in training.

This is for friends

More distant now,

Past any official count.

More distant now

You still count

Other things.

On the other side I know

You still count

Other things.

The letters after all our names

Line up like ducks.

Like the ducks across the way,

The ones who squabble for corn in winter snow,

We wait for spring

When feed will be abundant.

We wait

For the promise of spring,

The promise of grain given,

*A good measure, pressed down,

Shaken together, running over.

Put into our laps,

As we ourselves have given,

As we ourselves know the gift

Given already

Before we even began

The count.

We know the Gift.

*”Give, and it will be given to you. A good measure, pressed down, shaken together, running over, will be put into your lap; for the measure you give will be the measure you get back.”  Luke 6:38 (NRSV)