Mothering about on your Sunday for you
once a year, this year,
better even, I hope, than any old breakfast in bed,
I thank you dear La-la
dear Leigh Eileen La-la:
for spiralling fluidities
quick and silvery
of slippery slapped and wailing thought
in a rush of bubbles
and for thoughts continually drummed out loud
in howls and in vowels
in hoots and in heights
in weights and in measures
I thank you additionally
and for the power of listen
and for the power of watch
it is you I also have to thank
and for a dawning
an inkling of comprehension
of the lovelinesses of skies of Novembers
I thank you as well, long and down-deep heartfelt.
Dominic Mathews
