Poetry

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.

let me rub your aching soles withs
frankincense and myrrh

If we could see the invisible saints
watching over houses, whether imagined
or not

I forget—did God make death?

you discovered heaven spread to the edges
of a max lucado picture book