Poems

Sometimes it’s not the infant’s holy face that awes us

The honest power of a winter-shocked sun is doing its best   but it still looks like the scarce light is coming from the blue.   The sky among the clouds is like chipped paint—   nothing is falling, though.   Face your fears, they said. I remember   trying to forget all about that […]

After the agony and humiliation/ of crucifixion,

So near holidays. For now, celebratetheir nearness. Brush the cat hair offof coats, collect the hackberry leaves.Winter threatens is unfair; it menaceslike sleep, like hunger. Cheer a killingfrost but mourn the lettuce, the orchidyou snap, an accident, not meaning tobe an ender. Less time now for re

From the far star points of his pinned extremities