Tag Archives: Light

Gauge

Posted on August 23, 2018 by

The sun, like a brandied dream, slips away beneath the world’s ending, or beginning, same difference, by the sea’s ancient gauge and meter. Advertisements

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Level

Posted on July 12, 2018 by

Girl, I will write you for a long, seething bask, Light seeks its own level.

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Devotional

Posted on June 19, 2018 by

Remember me to the ease of light, its pause and passage, we are not long for this earth, which swallows us, and our lovetagged bones, as a matter of natural course and radical recomposition, all the gifts, and hopes unwound … Continue reading →

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Slant

Posted on June 17, 2018 by

There are no promissory notes in life, there are fugitive scraps upon which we can opt to scribble our heart’s mind, and most tender sublime, tatters registered to light’s lilting slant, granting us grace from unexpected angles.

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Milk & Angels

Posted on June 6, 2018 by

Slotted between worlds, a living wake, whitefulness encroaching like a milkspreading cape of ocean, the requisite baffle and glare, It must be the angels riding in mounted on Mercy, you think, and you wait for them to turn the corner, … Continue reading →

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Lull

Posted on June 3, 2018 by

Sometimes, even the light, in its radiant parry and thrust, needs to be laid down, in order to receive, openly, the starried lull of brokenness.

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Print

Posted on May 27, 2018 by

We, the intermediaries, the gilded abeyance, between holy fire and dreamless wake, we, each and every one, corpuscles, tendered to print in God’s colossal palm.

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Intent

Posted on May 17, 2018 by

Silence, the lighted bidding to know my own heart, to take a chance on every last fretted me I neglected to face, or boldly mention, to sow gaping closure with intent.  

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Tryst

Posted on May 6, 2018 by

The last time I fornicated with an angel my porchlights blew and we became tranluscent sheets of merger rising above a glassy pool of chartreuse reflecting in cursive the lighted gist of our holy remains. God, I’m open to another … Continue reading →

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Palms

Posted on April 22, 2018 by

Mercy Street runs lengthwise to the sun. Its soul, to orient, turns its nearest cheek to flaring palms.

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