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 together

and Other when we grow,

so go into the night and morning.

The great wind in all its searching

has but one and holy globe.

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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, secret


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