No king has ever calmed these waters.

Sometimes it’s not the infant’s holy face that awes us

After the agony and humiliation/ of crucifixion,

In the wind I lose the tumble of bone-white rocks down the hillside in summer

So near holidays. For now, celebratetheir nearness. Brush the cat hair offof coats, collect the hackberry leaves.Winter threatens is unfair; it menaceslike sleep, like hunger. Cheer a killingfrost but mourn the lettuce, the orchidyou snap, an accident, not meaning tobe an ender. Less time now for re