Tender gift
of lifting
one’s hands,
understanding
there’s a force
enforcing
that promise
sprung from
a distant source,
sweet resource
of laughter
and peace after
storms lift
and as swiftly
bright wings
singe us, singing.
Dumbfounded,
one’s bound
to become
one consumed.
YOU MIGHT ALSO LIKE
Lancelot in the Desert
The Last Westernerby chilton williamson jr.386 pages, st. augustine’s press, $19.95 In his dedication to The Last…
The Lonely Passion of Reginald Pole
A year after I became a Catholic, when my teenaged son was thinking about college, we visited…
Stevenson’s Treasure
Robert Louis Stevenson (1850–94) belongs at the head of a select company of writers renowned in their…
