Terrarium

Look, here is grief,
Her humid circuit riding, 
And here is God,
Abiding.

And here warm grace
Runs down the lichen’s fuzz,
And here sweats God
With us.

Now tap the glass
Which keeps the foggy smile,
Safe from the chill,
A while.

Look, here are ghosts
Of maybe, and because, 
And here are grapes I grew
From moss. 

Next
YOU MIGHT ALSO LIKE

Art Criticism for Art’s Sake (ft. Michael Clune)

Mark Bauerlein

In the ​latest installment of the ongoing interview series with contributing editor Mark Bauerlein, Michael Clune joins…

A Clean, Well-Lighted Place with Wifi

Rob Griffith

As waiters glide across the room,espresso steams beside my bookon the small, round table.The low purl of…

The No / The Yes 

J. S. Absher

Nothing terrifies more than the Noyour lover whispers through a closed door:You may die for all I…