If God is calling your name,
a name that is common enough,
how would you know,
what could make you sure
it was he called
and not some other who might answer first
before you could decide,
or just after you
and say he spoke before
you drowned him out
with your greediness, your
need to be the favorite,
the only one
whose name God knew
for sure?
Then
don’t answer at all
with the chance
that you might hear:
“Oh no, not you;
I’m waiting for another,
the one who never volunteers.”
Lift My Chin, Lord
Lift my chin, Lord,Say to me,“You are not whoYou feared to be,Not Hecate, quite,With howling sound,Torch held…
Letters
Two delightful essays in the March issue, by Nikolas Prassas (“Large Language Poetry,” March 2025) and Gary…
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Let’s say you’ve just comeFrom confession. Late sunPours through the budding treesThat mark the brown creek washing Itself…