From Dust To
The Lord God, our Word, pressed round wild David,
Brought to bloom within the cathedral of Mary.
He is Spring reigniting—the glory of impossible
YES, a sapped ointment cooling the leprosy of NO.
He is instructor and extractor of self,
Plumb-line Thought and lush-dipped Feel.
Selah—my blood and marrow under chatty inked skin
Draw no distinctions, as no formal presence
Contains my name on His breath—sung
Beyond and before my family’s embodiment.
To live is Now and Then—Silent and Blistering,
Water in mooned cycles melting mountains.
You and me—Exhaled into dust each one—
So content claiming Genesis in the wind.
Too Ill to Title
Picture by Leonid Mamchenkov, Creative Commons License
Lord, I’ve been in 100% cotton pajama
Pants and shoddy emotions for three days.
My temperature sky-rocketed. My bed-sheets
Soaked salty around my lower-back and
Read MoreThe Gospel of the Fat Cactus
“Poetry is as visual as are paintingand the cinema.” – Charles Simic
If you are lucky, you will
find yourself reading poems
by Jim Harrison or Ted Kooser
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