Charlotte Elliot No one wants to come just as they are to the Lord. Only children, who go just as they are to anything –

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

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