There are moments I remember

that even the schools of crickets

are multitudinous,

and that waiting for the rain

makes the sun too bright.

I discover new shapes every day:

green ones, gold ones, secrets

under a pale and spirit sky.

Now my many gardens miss me,

the trumpet flowers and the trees,

but they move on.

They move on.

All speech is an act of doubt.

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for nicolle

We listened and we heard in the space between us, a small garden with many new things: curving meridians and underworlds and iridescent dreams, shoulders to chest like a liturgy. One is when we are to


Conversations with Jesus on the front porch. So many worries. That's true, he says. Everything moving by things I can't see. But perhaps, he says, you can. And under it all? You'll remember, he says.


I haven’t asked him for his number because now I am known, now the I-I-I am afraid, now I am up there on the raggedy cross with Christ: no longer unimaginable (so a little breathless), no number, no d