Creator God, God of ashes, let the sands of wilderness stick to our skin; let us wonder why.
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She bears faithful, unwavering witness to pain, but she is neither hopeless nor joyless.
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Poem. Imagine you are dust.
You melt with a raindrop.
You run downhill, down the wind shield, down drains.
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The very first day of the new year, I ate sourdough apple-cinnamon waffles with one of my dearest friends, she who is in so many ways a mirror image of myself.
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a poem for a changing world
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There was a moment that forced a long, rusty lever to move, this kind of steel bar pointing up at an angle like a needle reading some kind of gauge, though I’m not sure at all what it’s meant to measure.
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