
Poetry
“Where Is God?”
my daughter asks. And I tell her to point anywhere she wants. She points at a dead worm on the sidewalk. “Yes,” I say. “God’s
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my daughter asks. And I tell her to point anywhere she wants. She points at a dead worm on the sidewalk. “Yes,” I say. “God’s
One sustained Alleluia kisses the psalmodic couch, the sanctified family photos, and the unstained glass window where I see a monk- neighbor in medieval bathrobe
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