"I’m not asking for a handout. Fair deal. Cash on wood. I’ll do you a trick. One trick. Life-changing magic, I promise."
And perhaps we create the sacred not by putting our trust in the institutions that are supposed to guard it, but by demanding that these institutions relentlessly revise themselves toward the sacred.
Church is only open on Sunday.
My mother owned a cauldron so rusted, nothing could live in it. / / Sometimes, I swore, I could feel the sharp tips of the orange crescent moon.
Who among you will dispute? / close affinity between Ruminants and Pachyderms
When I lament the bag trapped somewhere / in the bowels of Heathrow’s Terminal 5 / / The agent asks is any of it irreplaceable?
When the thunder / cracked above / and God poured water / upon the earth
It’s the young French father’s longer arms / that first reach their daughter’s hair / in which her clasp is tangled.
I watch the moon lean against the branches empty / trees wrap its curves to the scent of spring its green / rhetoric