Affirmations

I am in favor of this pair of ruffed grouse

who in the midst of the snow storm feasted long

and obliviously on the wizened, bittersweet,

long-fermented berries of the mountain ash.

I am also in favor of the old dog,

who did not mean to frighten the deer,

and while I regretted that I could no longer watch

as snow accumulated along the doe’s back,

I am still in favor of the path it ran to get away,

although its running is what frightened the grouse.

And while it is too bad that in their wobbling,

soaring glide, both grouse struck the window

I stood in front of and were instantly killed,

let there be no doubt that I am in favor

of the tenderness of each bird’s breast skin

and the ease with which it tears and folds away

with its feathers to expose the pink, warm meat of the breast.

For I am in favor of this odd infinitive verb,

to breast, as I breast one by one the supple front

meats from each grouse,

these limp-necked birds whose meat

I am most deeply in favor of, quick-fried in butter,

with a skiff of salt and a rasher of coarsely ground pepper

poured on, all of which, of course, I am in favor of as well,

as I am in favor of the butter’s hot graceful glide

across the skillet and the propane’s dank waft up

through copper pipe to the burner of the stove

and the blue flame tipped with yellow

that blossomed at the touch of my match.

I am also in favor of the wine, and of the grapes

that bless us so many miles from their vines,

just as I am in favor of how the sun going down now