thorn

in the poppy bed
there’s a stubborn weed
i never can seem to kill

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dressed for spring

midway up the hill
the neighbor’s weeping fig
is dressed for spring
a gown of bridal white blossoms
shielding leafless branches.

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o Love ever-burning

Who will lift the shroud of night
heaven’s light fresh to reveal
overcome death’s with’ring blight
deign our wounded hearts to heal?

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wherever there is

here is a hand for you. it is here
and you are there, wherever there is.

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liminality

all day i have been haunted by liminality.
the first last things. the beginnings of endings.

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considering the lilies

the angel does not his own image praise
nor does the bloom amid green-bladed grass

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