thinks he’s the archangel Gabriel.Nighttime is when such thingscan happen. We permit twilightto linger inside when he talks.That’s not what I heard, I say.It’s what
Five specks in V-formation move in smoothapproach. The sun transmits a flushed alarm,thin flames of tangerine among the crests.The small fleet coasts our way and
After the illness struck,those who lived near enoughgathered to bury the child. The church doors sighed open;the neighbors slippedinto the marbled blue night, all but
A downed oak, toppled by time, pithless logleveled, imploding, rotting edificeunder blown snow; above, warped-and-wovenscene of leafless torsos, sky’s grays threadedthrough like tattered banners attesting
In dreams an island looms in silhouetteand speaks through the outline of a mouthand murmurs it’s an idea not an island,not an island. An idea
That moment when, in the midst of wreckageand tears, you see a scarlet cardinalacross the way, and last evening,he and his mate, more russet than
The Holy Spirit comes in while you are quiet. There is nothingvoiced yet many questions while our tongues are still. In the yearsahead of us,
On Sundays when football isn’t onour family naps through high noon westernsafter church. In my dreams, gun fights echo the sermon. This morning my daughter’s
Texas Dept of Criminal Justice ID: 02290142Crime: Aggravated Assault of a Child.Sentence: 7000 years. Age 41 When I consider thy heavens, the work of thy
