if you go to Mass, you hear the near-perfect opening
line in the sixth month the angel Gabriel was sent by God
A hymn to mercy and love, “Love Calls Us to the Things of This World” springs to my lips when my heart is quiet. I teach it as often as I can for my introductory poetry students.
Because this house is a dandelion gone to seed. Fragile and full of possibility.
Her laptop says Coffee and Jesus,
so I fish the Bible from my backpack,
a goblet neither full nor empty,
off balance there, like Humpty Dumpty
Hollywood would not photograph us
for two or three more decades, they cut away
When storms of change recalibrate reality,
Rewrite the code that holds the cosmos together.
