Priests talk about the end of time—
how all this will burn.
Category: poetry
In Front of the Candles
It’s true: my dearest friend did not die
when I was in España
Secret Midtown Garden
The back door was my savior, leading me
To jade insertions of a picket fence
A Plague of Emmanuels
It came first to the waters. The shores thicken, nothing like life.
As It Should Be
When diverse colours in a forest blend
the greens like olive emerald lime & jade
Transfiguration
When our fathers
approached your
holy Mountain,
brushing a blade
of grass meant death.
Psalm for the Fallen Women
“I have bruises too, a smattering, and I know
it doesn’t make sense”