Caedmon’s Music
By Poetry Issue 103
To sing of origins is to set a course
to anoint a present where cows and angels
cowherds and shepherd kings
all shine in heaven’s light
1983
By Poetry Issue 103
That first morning, I remember
clinging to a table’s edge—
both legs jackhammering the white
linoleum floor tiles—praying for
my benzodiazepine to finally,
finally kick in.
Where the Very Stones Were Green
By Poetry Issue 103
. . . faith in the faith that the way the story ends
is not the story—
May some mercy find them both.
Read MorePastor Eaten by Crocodiles While Trying to Walk on Water Like Jesus
By Poetry Issue 103
Deacon Nkosi, a member of the church, told the newspaper,
“The pastor taught us about faith on Sunday last week.”
Regarding a Balloon Vendor Materializing Out of the Darkness Following a Heavy Rain
By Poetry Issue 103
Maybe I was too bus-lagged to haggle over
the price of a portent, much less a cheap
souvenir. . .
His Mother Reading
By Poetry Issue 103
Bible open. On her lap. Same page for years.
Her white hair. Spooky red ink. Deuteronomy.
Palm Sunday
By Poetry Issue 103
There are so many ways to fly and walk
in place I never move.
Home from the Hospital
By Poetry Issue 103
In my absence, one sprig of English ivy
has crept through a crack
under my window.
On Liturgy
By Poetry Issue 103
All at once the stillness breaks
into a great applause of wings, the mounting up
in doxology, the downsweep then
of many heads in prayer.
Love Poem, Ending
By Poetry Issue 103
There will be thousands of warm nights
like this one, millions of the beetles, this whole darkened face
of earth erupting in brief constellations.