We listened and we heard in the space between us, a small garden with many new things: curving meridians and underworlds and iridescent...

There are moments I remember that even the schools of crickets are multitudinous, and that waiting for the rain makes the sun too bright....

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,...

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:...

We’re not always looking for an ancient cadence. Sometimes the many-pistoned hum is enough. The beginning and end of every journey: our...

In the end, I suppose the better question is: how does the ocean feel about us?

I emerged from my door and carried into my present moment the quivering skeleton of a whom this poem is for, a what is trying to be...

On the front porch of my sister’s District rowhome September reds breach the green like an early monsoon, a wave of the knowledge of...

The only sin is not knowing the bigger picture, and even then it’s nothing new: No one stopped the strangling fig. No one rescued Job....

Faith: is when you can't remember what it is you have forgotten, but you know that it is good. Humiliation begets humility begets wisdom...

How to love a long-living green, a resting place at rest. How to love a family filled with sediment and wormholes — How to love a lover...

The littlest games the ego plays: what a marvelous match. And what but underbrush could burn and burn away the burdens on your back?...

I watch the shadows of the morning conjoin the flat white globe of noon, I watch the swallows’ silhouette weave holy wakes above the...

Assurance settles as morning mist, the exhalation of the warming earth, the churning dirt, an ungraspable above the ground. And the...

our men are never finished our women only begin our sunset women, our people of the dusk our sadder but wiser women and all folk who...

I am a cross-section of the Living God the Samawati starling that’s me more like a vessel of water overlapping on itself Samawati...

resilience is not always a stiff upper lip it is not always silence sometimes resilience is screaming the throat sore and bruising the...

a season, a season sing to yourself a season but to your bones it is deep, deep winter

I. Every day she walks in the door a stranger. II. Even together we touch more air than skin. III. To love the distance is to love...

Calling all gods everywhere — make yourselves useful; cease your petty quibbling and show yourselves. It has appeared that unless you...