Allow me to compose for You, for I called You a poem knowing that You in all You are are art. You are words dripping from my tongue, satiating A thirst for medium form, and style, Life. I called You, Poetry. You showed up late and underdressed, A sight to behold. All glory, In the sunlight.

Untitled   Brains think and believe in electricity that sparks  movement from limb to limb. And we continue in this way calling it synapse or science, Which is really just a more decorative description  for that which we cannot understand.   Psalm 104:27-30    

A Dwelling Place I thought that I had found the place where you live, amongst the dewdrops in the morning. While combing through thick fog to find the tall rocks near the ocean. May that I rise to meet you. Lift me with the ocean spray, following the contours of your coastline with a photographic […]