After 1 Samuel 24 His beard tightly curled, black locks in ringlets,Saul’s regal forehead slumbers on bedrockat the mouth of a shepherd’s desert cavelike an

After Matthew 26:52 Blood streaks splatter across moonbeamslike a pearl-string snatched from a virgin’s neck:the ear of a guard, hacked off, falling down to dustto

The breeze is brisk like a crisp cup of water as I drink in sunlight on the Sabbath,a Latin cigar gifting its peppery smoke before

It’s surprising how a chaplain’s visitwill resemble a Shakespearean script,|artifice shaping the entire eventwhen one steps on a hospital unit. Like a thespian’s stage, this

When the kitchen table becomes a confessional and the combat with demons in the heart hears conversation turn toward tired despair, How many more years,

After Camille Pissarro’s Haymaking at Éragny Pissarro clumped, sculpted, plowed his oil paints to produce this hayfield: fertile pigments mixed, molded, together like squelching mud

Let us romanticize a monk, hunched-over, candle-lit, a sackcloth habit snuggled close to repel the winds besieging his abbey, medieval, dark, his stylus tracing pregnant

After Job 13:15 “Though He slay me, still will I trust Him,” seems a rhetorical boast, easily made, for who can comprehend this claim’s worth

He loosens his work-tie’s noose-knot, ascending a staircase climbing above our grey earth, fallen leaves clotting gutters in the car-park where a divorced neighbor, half-lifed,