That we are all adopted, appallingly / co-opted into Christ’s holiness is
a simple given, and a certainty. / So relax.
The rag-trimmed tree confounds me, / Leafy with crosses and beads: / Not a merry December fir; grim in June to see.Read More
Is a spoon still a spoon, ——————————bent by two hands to look more ——————————————————————–—like a moon? Some nights, I take a walk down to the cul-de-sac, lay myself on the gravel, ————–—play a different kind of dead. It sounds like a fiddle. The boy calls me sylvan, ——————————eagle-boned & I know what he means. He…Read More