I’m caught in my longing to be with you somewhere else.

a prodigal daughter returned at last

It wasn't for the money of that I'm sure

Christ shining, Christ gold, dawn in a fragile frame

I decide on wide slashes—precise but hungry,/as if the soldier had wanted to peel into the heart—

I’m tired of the world’s incessant buzz and scrutiny, the news and the news of the news, the onslaught.