More on: Poetry

In the hollow of her mantle, in the crossing of her arms,
she will protect you.

But should you be patient enough to wait near the edge of the forest where invisible and visible merge with magic and miracle.

There was no religion in our house. For years I thought it was a hole, a gap in the woodwork I needed to fill.

In Siena’s basilica, Saint Catherine’s head, freed from its reliquary, now stands in its ownskin, incorrupt on the silver altar, the teeth still visiblein that open air.

It has been a bad decade for God. To begin with, we are losing women.

It’s always the woman looking over her shoulder, some man chasing her past herself.

This is no parable, Jesus tells his disciples. I want to show you in between my wordsa carnal will to be reborn.

Perceiving less than I can fathom, I name more than I can know.

By inadequacies of word, of form, I have reached for you.

In your abandonment you are beloved; in exile you are saved.