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liturgical yearpoetry

Third Sunday in Advent: A Sestina

These candlelit evenings, ancient hope glimmers like a gift, gleams for a moment, then falters, slips to nothing in the circling of the year, our loves still unsteady, our roots still shallow, every promise a whisper of moth’s wings and still pending.
December 16, 2023

Not Consumed

What does it mean, I wonder, to encounter a burning bush, flaming but not consumed, and hear nothing? Beauty manifests God, but what if God does not call your name out of the flames? Only silence. No appointment with destiny. You admire for a moment…
October 31, 2020

To Love Michigan in Summer

Sumac and scrubby grass, dense-leaved oaks and maples, jumbles of every possible green. Blue spruce, Douglas fir, white pines, red pines, the astonishing symmetry of jack pine trunks in a sudden stand. Dead trees like skeletons rising from swamps. Everything stubby and scruffy and sassafrassy.
July 1, 2017

Japanese Autumn

Lines Composed in an Autumn Reverie, on Visiting the Japanese Garden one Friday Afternoon, October 2015. Chrysanthemums Huddled palms direct their longing west with every gust, great frond-arms and arrow-leaves jostling, clenching, splaying. Bright chrysanthemums ensconce them, basking in slanted light, steady and splendid.
October 2, 2015