Not the storm, but the calm. Not the flurry of attention               called to the sky.Not the rumour of a hurricane on the horizon.Not humidity, the mosquitoes rising               like smoke from the fields. Not a history of revisions we call             …

  Each morning is the same            but I can’t help but look again and again: skin smooth peony petal, vanilla-ice-            cream-cool; hair a ripple of milk pulled back too tight (though sometimes I forget the aching);             even my eyes are eggshells. Only…

  The absence of faith is the beginning of death.What I call flesh is prayer bound to my bones. All my prayers begin as songs from my bonesand end with blood instead of amen. How I wish I began every request with amen,like when I ask God to let doubt pass from me. Amen. Oh…