https://graceclairepoetry.substack.com
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
