…moved over the face of the waters. And in reading this,the awareness that, more than once,God has turned my head in his direction,yet I haven’t seen the gesture for what it is. The world charges and is charged with a white-hot flame.I might turn away, but each morning my head is t

Stream crossing, train whistle among the beech leaves rustling and a vulture swings down low over the boardwalk when the engine light barrels over the causeway and the geese lift over the dormant buds,a shimmer in the water’s mild ripple, in the liquid where the deer b

IHow to feel his death? On the street.The shots. My friend’s scream. One cracked the air, the other pierced the thin veil, a usual evening returning from somewhere,returned from many times before. When I look for where to fix the broken city that I love, the whole towe