She spoke softly, calmly recounting
her pain through a furnace of litanies
that helped her hold on to the unbelief
Daniel Skach-Mills 12-01-2007
My breath pluming white into December
could, to God, be incense rising out
of the puffing thurible of my body.
Up here, it’s impossible to tell for the fog
Kathleen Gunton 12-01-2006
with her sack of stones
and one dying rose,
fragrant as Pinot Noir.