More on: Poetry

were onto something, separating the good god / from all of this, but you’re so stubborn, you / insist on hanging dead in the web

Is it always necessary— / I think but do not say— / for the eyes of men / to penetrate the ways of the most high?

And so, emboldened by what the angel told them, / off they went toward Bethlehem to find / the swaddled babe and manger and lolling beasts, / their beauty and their beings ramified / in carols lightening our lamentations

We cannot see our loved ones, shut into hospitals / like mysterious shrines, taken out alive or dead. // They close our eyes. We have no say in whether / we breathe or not.

Each body a consecrated temple. / That means // sister, no one needs to see / past your knees.

This faith was not mine / this bite into colorless / this flush with skin and bones / this eating the circle this / fingering of names

He’ll rewire you / Because you let him, no, because you were looking / Always for someone who could.

I am soothing; on an empty leash, eyes / cease to be sexy.

I begin with the soul, that escape / artist, that meme.

When Moses led / the senseless run toward the waters, I pulled / the reins to slow my horses. But then the sea / diverged itself into two walls and stood / as if held by glass.