Overnight,new toadstoolsshoulder throughsodden grassthe way sorrowsemerge, oneafter another. Traveler,in a season doublyscented by windfallapples and creepingrot, please sidestepthe lone wet leaf,beaded with dewlike tiny mirrors.Those

          “I contain multitudes”  —Walt Whitman fugitive and scaled captorlinked by appointmentmore than accident more than appetite here I ammammal mother with childsome kind of

The kitchen radio’s whineintones catastrophe—wildfire, species loss—all breakfast long. While Ioffer a troubled gracefor oatmeal, toast, and juice,it dribbles misery down. The local news, too,

The backyard maplesspeak in fire-tongues,filling the windowswith gold light as though they were banksof candles, burningbefore great shrines,these days of the dead, in vigil and

10 January 2021—The Baptism of the Lord Falling since morninga whiteness common elsewherebut rare enough in these climescovers sights all too common here and now

The world stands out on either side/No wider than the heart is wide.—“Renascense” by Edna St. Vincent Millay How wide the world?“No wider than the

a woman sky eternal silencesprings the sun newbornalabaster is the memorywhere singular is the right purpose of the heartiridescent bodydoes not cling for all is

Cathedral elms once graced our street Before they cut them down.As rot seeped into greenery,On came the chain-saw sound. Cathedral elms were God’s sure signOur

Though you had always lived in light, you lookeddeep in the dark, and chose the way of pain. Deep in the dark, we chose the