The giants swing their triple arms or poise,
frozen like hazmat signs, on every hill:
alien prayer wheels of unending noise
or monuments to birds and bats they kill;
Shivas, whose dance preserves us and destroys
a landscape that no longer can stand still.
—Susan McLean
YOU MIGHT ALSO LIKE
Pope and President Tangle
In April, the Holy Father and the president of the United States traded barbs. The proximate cause…
While We’re At It
In Palm Sunday reflections posted on his website, Coram Fratribus, Bishop Erik Varden observes: In the Saint…
Letters—June/July 2026
The sentimental images painted of proud, tight-knit communities slowly crumbling away are compelling, but I have to…
