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Portrait

sun-scarred eyes

granite hard and grey

ingrained, glittering

in joyous inclusion,

the wildest blooming

tendrils entwine

and a sea-change,

rolling upwards in

a great green mass

through exquisite

fissured, always

firm, momentous

eyes; conversant

with the earth, as

his, as it will ever

be: an expectation

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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

Doubt

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

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.