I think most anthologies do this but I like it when a poet’s name is unknown until the end. And tonight I was not at all surprised to see whose name was at the bottom of this one:
Unable to sleep, or pray, I stand
by the window looking out
at moonstruck trees a December storm
has bowed with ice.Maple and mountain ash bend
under its glassy weight,
their cracked branches falling upon
the frozen snow.The trees themselves, as in winters past,
will survive their burdening,
broken thrive. And am I less to You,
my God, than they?