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…

We are building a house small in the woods,  refuge from disquietor vague boredom. It must weather distance,the hurt of proximity. We do not mean to,though we are so good  at breaking, scavenging old bone and feather, stalks of  wildflowers outlasting the hour of their heads.  You are boss, and look boss, hammer and spackle knife and blue hair,…