Who says we give away the pearls we own?
Think make-believe: think souvenir or prize
for weathering a storm, reaching a stone
ledge. Think yielding. It never happens. Eyes
that see beyond the sill will recognize
darkness cast by leaves, the loss of Sunday.
What do you mean? Old habits: our body
seeks the bullseye, brass ring, the vintage wine—
And wouldn’t the stray thumb rub a gaudy
crown? Still ours to pray for: the death of mine.
—Sofia M. Starnes
Photo by Rebecca Wilson via Creative Commons.
YOU MIGHT ALSO LIKE
Does Just War Doctrine Require Moral Certainty?
Pope Leo XIV has made it clear that the U.S. war on Iran does not, in his…
The Church of David Bowie
David Bowie and the Search for Life, Death and Godby peter ormerodbloomsbury, 256 pages, $28 Thirty-four years…
Finding a Pulse
Trueman’s new book, The Desecration of Man, should further cement his authority. It supplements, focuses, and in…
