More on: poetry

a dream that repeated: to find the good / you must uproot the pain

I came to see the ark in this space as a kind of well at the heart of an imaginary landscape, the symbolic source of life. This metaphoric landscape is a constant reminder of the longing for the physical Holy Land.

My mother used to tell me to talk without using my hands…. People will think you’re something you’re not, she said.

I want to know the names / of those who make reservoirs / of their own bodies.

But, if you didn’t notice, there is the cross: / the cross that includes everything as it / excludes nothing

Like you, I’m on a journey, though where I’m going / changes with each moment.

A poem for lost love. “If I wash myself / where will you go?”

To think—I thought it cute, / the doctrine that the oak trees sculpt / the air and water

May the curious prayer of work keep me / in contact with the stone / / and who knows what else.

the gates are not pearly / but white and scaly / like fish.