That same cry rose across fields at Antietam,
Those wounded boys so far from home
Posted inPoetry
Poetry
Posted inPoetry
Aubade at Eighty Five
And you pray
for help, one day at a time, sweet Jesus, as the mantra goes.
Posted inPoetry
At the National Shrine of the Immaculate Conception, Washington, D.C.
She is the quickening, the leap of faith;
she the tabernacle, mother of the world.
Posted inPoetry
Our Epiphany
Because they left, they could arrive.
Because they searched, they could find.
Because they wandered, they discovered.
