
“Where Is God?”
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
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
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
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