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

If I sit on the porch and look out on the morning, It is the dust I first see on the window panes, Smudged here

Miles and a moment’s ease flake away – the toddler shook us awake to ask When did Jesus paint our skin? Like memories of San

The whale I lost in a book of water I look for with a pair of binoculars. I trawl for whale; I leave it verses.

As you read these words, I lie lynx-like. I lie lynx-like in prairie sage, in a phase of abstinence. The yelp I trust is periodic;

To you, O Lord, I offer my heart, promptly and sincerely. – John Calvin From the time I was eight I have pondered your portrait,

Here in a parking lot in February Where snow, piled through the winter, melting in thaw, Had sent a freshly pulsing tributary Across the asphalt

It seems the leaves know that they’re done with green of photosynthesis: loosing their stems from tendril grasp, they drop, but glide so far from

They lean over balconies, strain to hear through thick silence, dangerously close to the edge of sky and star, where time smudges into forever, they