I set you children a lesson, Mary says. Our unknown is I am.Read More
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 lamentationsRead More
Not angels, but pale travelers
through time, come back
Not to condemn or to reverse
our narrow acts,
But to remind us, by their soft
Is still to come.
We step over the barbed wire into the pasture,
overtaken by another giddiness.
I remember when those hands were furnaces burning in the hearts of celestial bodies. I watched the very dust fall to earth and become you.Read More
No thing made
or unmade, or born or yet to be, can separate us from the Love
that drew us forth from weave to know the weave and return to it.
Maybe I was too bus-lagged to haggle over
the price of a portent, much less a cheap
souvenir. . .