Poetry

The holy of holies does exist, although I have never heard it discussed on a Sunday.

my body is the wilderness I wander in, searching for my daily sustenance from on high.

II. Remnants Leaves alight with flame from dying rays split by rocky silhouettes. Another world nestled amongst clouds, guided by a one-way road. Wind whips through our hair as unfamiliar...

1. After We Spoke After we spoke, on the road to Canada, I remembered when we saw god in a cloud behind the east wall of Provo. That...

Galilee, a crystal wave of scales falls into a boat. A tiny girl, Miriam, picks up a sardine, holds the wiggling fish in her palm. 1. ...

A god that was a child is a difficult god to qualify. Of distance there is plenty little talk of the unsanitary and veiled who, after all, would...

Like soil too heavy with clay, my soul needs amendment. Peat and gypsum balance the loam, but I’ll tend my mind with words. Stories...

A hush between light walls, And quiet rooms separated by Dark paneled doors, The brass knobs curling Like friendly fingers Reaching out to welcome me in. Worn books near where...

Young Aunt Carol saw you cradling the eggs from the henhouse in your apron caressing the creamy shells under the slow stream of tap water. This devoted attention, soft acts...

They offered me a paradise If I followed down the road. A choice if I would pay the price And sacrifice my home. I fell into their trap And...