Poetry

Once again the nightmare. The blueblack plume,

“Before time had a name….” –William Stafford

At noon today

Another thick book of testimonies—

Roads lie buried here

“From dust you come and shall return”

The war blew out your stained glass windows

For I will consider my daughter Cecilia.

To look into the pure white of paper,

“He observed the wrappings on the ground and saw the piece of cloth