The fear of the Lord is Zion’s treasure. — Isaiah 33:6 Beyond eager to bear witness to the miracle of compounding, I have deposited,Lord, my

Harlem Cultural Festival, 1969 As though Eve herself,in all her intricate glory,electrified once again the rib, as though her twin lungs, rumblingwith divine breath,let loose,

“Go, some summer evening, to that hallowed place, where your thoughts so readily run back over the past, and so willingly entertain the hopes of

Take the globe by her imaginedcorners & stretch her flatlike evening against the skyBlow your trumpets angelsto stir our souls& stir bodies that have died

Once, before children, my wifeand I took a nest of fledglingsto a woman who rehabbed wildlife.I remember the “No” that creasedher face when asked if

Re-enter the world, a worldwhere, no matter how it first happened,the spark of your conception, too, was Spirit, as was the amniotic fluid—a dream brooding

The doctor’s office grants no placebeyond the floor’s gray linesto form and color. Here is spaceclean scrubbed and blank, defined by tile. Phone chorus, keyboard

No longer bent like weightedbranches or shrivelled like applesin the bottom of a bushel basketNo longer circling & recirclingin unsolvable mental labyrinths my parentshave left

In memoriam, Anya Silver We chose not to seehow close it hovered.She had been sick so longwe had grown accustomedto her bright scarvesand turbans as