Alan Sullivan

to the choirmaster: a psalm of David, when Nattan the prophet came to him, after he had gone to Bat-sheva. 01: Grant your pardon, God. With your loving-kindness and abundant pity, blot out my transgressions. 02: Wash me thoroughly of my iniquity; cleanse me of my sin. 03: For I admit my trespass; . . . . Continue Reading »

a psalm of David 01: The Lord is my shepherd.? I shall not want.? 02: He lays me down? in tender pastures. ? He leads me beside? quiet waters.? 03: He refreshes my soul.? He guides me on paths? of righteousness ? for his name’s sake. ?04: Though I walk a valley ? shadowed by death, ? I fear no . . . . Continue Reading »

In Madagascar there are moths that sip tears from sleeping birds. How hushed the wing; how light the feet; and deft the barbeled tip, latching the lid! The sleeper feels no sting: saliva numbs the nerves. A virus goes from host to host, and when it multiplies the bird will die. No field researcher . . . . Continue Reading »

Lord of the storm, spare Kingston’s unkempt port, spare Spanish Town and even Montego Bay. Open your eye only on empty sea. Let vessels reach their quays unscathed, and lashings never snap. Let shantytowns stay roofed, and coconuts not cannonball through walls. Almighty, if it pleases you to rip . . . . Continue Reading »