You have my heart which is similar to the moon’s grip on this night Dark branches reach high to embrace the sky waters bulge in

Soren Kierkegaard once said Martin Luther might as well have married a “wooden plank” Katherine, Kette, hidden in herring barrels, driven into town to hunt

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;