the sister sycamores were waiting
in the wood this afternoon

a life incredible, vivid, excellent.
the sister sycamores were waiting
in the wood this afternoon
i glanced out the window
into the night
and chanced to glimpse the crescent moon
father Abraham was promised a son. but
remember — sarah laughed. can new things come from an
old body? can life spring forth from what is dead?
O Eternal Light, it is death’s night You have saved us from;
on those in the land of shadow and sorrow
You have dawned.
the sap oozes from the fresh cut to the fir, perfuming our fingers with its wild, spicy scent
Read Morethis morning the sun
streaked the sky with ruby wonder —
but i went back to bed
is it a chain or
a root that holds us here; is
it fear or just love?
these leaves had roots once.
this sheaf was a forest
(or a tree)
and birds nested
in its branches,
squirrels cannoned
from limb to limb
with death-defying grace.
on june 23, 2013,
one of the flying wallendas
crossed the grand canyon
on a tightrope,
fifteen-hundred feet
above the river
running along the bottom.
the evening sun set the oak leaves glowing
like bronze against the still-blue sky,
and i wished i could show you
how beautiful it was, could explain
why i wished i could show you.