These are hard days: / the sodden sheets, robes, scapulars / are scrubbed with salt and ash / / and now need rinsing
Two Poems for St. Therese of Lisieux
Category: Poetry
Prevailing Conditions
Visions were fine enough / but it was loneliness, in fact, / that they really wanted from me.
Infinite Particular
Sometimes I forget / that he counts sparrows and hairs.
Modeh
Sometimes a sickness comes over me, / As though life itself withdraws, / And leaves behind a fragile shell
muein
disposing of wine by pouring into fire. / / Lit purple, every face lifts
A Body Made of Bees
Oh to be golden, thick / and slow with heaven.
You Cherubim
how your cerulean skin slides / across the eye, refreshes like the lid / tripped by light, sweat, wind, sex, / / or a speck of mythology settled / in the corneal bed
Swan
I scrub mouse blood from the floorboards / Imagining ice, / Imagining throats. / The dead stay dead.
What I Do Is Me
"Indoors, each one dwells, indeed, / feeding on the all-knowing glowing, blue- / light glazed, dazed, unmoving . . .
Psaltery & Lyre 