The Simple Act of Waking Up
“When I look at the / black freckles on the / right side of my beloved’s / face it becomes // clear that I am here”
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Canadian Summer Psalm 23
“Loving God, to whom / we flock, from whom / I wander…”
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Strawberries and Cornels
“When we were boys, born and raised in inland regions, we could already imagine the sea, after seeing some water in a little glass; but until we tasted them in Italy, the flavour of strawberries and cornels could in no way come into our minds.” (Augustine, Ep. 7.3.6) When the first taste came…it was, I…
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Making Soup
“When I boil these leftover bones / to loosen the flesh and eke out / every bit of gelatinous goodness…”
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A Hymn for Ukraine
Prayers quiet fears, / Smoke turns to incense, / Shrapnel turns to flowers, / Braided into the crowns we wear, / Clearing the rubble together.
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A world of small things
expanse of rockglacial and basic delicate berriesand hued bloomsgrasses – blue, fescue, and cotton. . . holes in ice(lost at sea)tiny hopes of oneringed by rime quick time breath shortbut darker holesin purest whitenow covered creep closer and feed the futureof nanuq generationsstill tiny, womb-boundwaiting to becomesomething greatin a world of small things. Written while…
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The angelic point of view
My first thought when I encountered D. S. Martin’s latest book, Angelicus, was how on earth would he be able to compose a book’s worth of poems about angels? But after familiarizing myself with all 64 poems, I realized one could say he only scratched the surface. A very satisfying scratch it is, however! Martin…
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A dream of you on your bench
I have a dream about youin which you are sitting on a bench, your bench,the one you have always sat on,at some distance from the sea off Scotlandbut close enough to smell and hear it. Next to you on the bench are your things:your book, a pair of binoculars,a bacon sandwich because it is almost…
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Southern Cathedral
stained glass hangs in leafy curtains/
green, green, green/
between brown columns… -
LEARNING TO FLY
Before they knew how to fly they watched birds/all that flap & flutter of feathers…
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Psalm 139 Revisited
Search me not, for dust is what you’ll find.Divinely-made, but dust remains, from whatAn image once contained in flesh and blood. Search me some, for likeness fair – a faceTo nameless fear – still stays inside.A place to hide abides within, amid The Me, the small-fall character once full,Rife with life and love and piety.So…
