if you go to Mass, you hear the near-perfect opening line in the sixth month the angel Gabriel was sent by God

A hymn to mercy and love, “Love Calls Us to the Things of This World” springs to my lips when my heart is quiet. I teach it as often as I can for my introductory poetry students. 

Because this house is a dandelion gone to seed. Fragile and full of possibility.

Her laptop says Coffee and Jesus, so I fish the Bible from my backpack,

a goblet neither full nor empty, off balance there, like Humpty Dumpty

Take, eat my memory of the woods.