It came to be widely believed that we were Something’s experiment, in which case the stars and the trees and the grass and the birds knew everything we wished to know.
WE HAD TO LEAVE
The Moth
Let’s drink to / what can be socketed, shadow / to wall, mouth to an ear. The moth / still on the windowsill is only / / a little death.
Grounding
I see nothing can stand beneath my feet but the solemn / and lovely earth, the molten fire within it, cirrus rags above.
How Long the Call
because (they say) my voice / was made for lullabies alone
How to Parse God
Neither God, nor God’s Manifestation in Flesh / Resembles a vending machine along the side of an untraveled road, / Almost covered in kudzu.
Hera Takes Down the Christmas Tree
My pagan hands, capable enough for this task of packing / away glass birds and painted wooden stars, / have again proven too clumsy to hang onto you. / I hear the whispers. No matter how gently / I remove the ornaments, showers of needles rush to the floor.
Three Poems
so I’ll sing what you want: counted like fathoms, / one knot at a time, ping and descend, ping and descend. / Till anchored to something barnacled. Musical. Onerous. Deep.
Go Along to Get Along
And if you say this something at a party / you might not be invited to another. / You could become isolated and embittered / and miss out on the treats.
Walking on Water
. . . I led him straight to Jesus. He repeated the prayer after me and was saved. I filed the paperwork that afternoon.
Psaltery & Lyre 