Often as I walk and think,
I pull flowers from stems
and stems from branches.
Now they are here and there,
in the air
and in the story.
Perhaps this is all
we ever are:
slowly something else.
The kilele project
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See AllThere 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