The summer God was nine years oldHeaven's swamp cooler broke for good.
I once met a woman who— in a frenzy of wild praise and to fight the devil—ate glass.
Of course it's not what I expected.
Along the Volga River, Russia 1993
The sky is gorged with snow.
I keep track of the comings and goings of people.
Apples still taste like apples.
Your petitions—though they continue to bear
just the one signature—have been duly recorded.
St. Teresa Puts in a Skylight
Street Person, Portland, Maine: circa 1965
Poetry is like prayer in that it is most effective in solitude and in the times of
solitude as, for example, in the earliest morning. Wallace Stevens
You can imagine why they call this ship a tender
Very soon now the light shall die.
I didn’t follow the holy man around
I have been in the House of Yahweh.