Poetry

Christ shining, Christ gold, dawn
in a fragile frame

I decide on wide slashes—precise but hungry,/as if the soldier had wanted to peel into the heart—

I’m tired
of the world’s incessant
buzz and scrutiny, the news
and the news of the news,
the onslaught.

There is a shadow swift as a rumor traveling the grass.

Little Double-Dutch girls chant / “birdie, birdie sittin’ on a wire—”