Your dove-eyes spy, while sipping Earl Grey cooled by milk,the ruby-throated hummingbird who builds her nestwith down of dandelions bound by spider’s silk—by dawn she’s
The now-clock is the clock of a toddler in which every number is replaced by the word “now”and the hands of now are always pointed
This is for the two-year-olds who cannot be understood because they speak half English and half God. Shake the dust.-Anis Mojgani, “Shake the Dust” Didn’t
Empty hands are all I have. The nothing’s all You need:in the valley of my palm, You place a mustard seed. My skin’s no soil
I often try to soften Jesus—he who claims he came to set the world ablaze, set like flint, burning, burning,bearing a sword, a whip of
Rubied roses and splattered wine, spilling sunsets, bruises, burns, fired iron and ancient rust, edge of danger, passionate love— Gentle yeses and offered palms, tight
Is faith set and certainor is it alive and changing (or is that me)?On one hand, I hold onto adogma that has been passed on,outlawed,
