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I asked my friend, the poet,how she was getting by.“Work and tears,”came her reply. “And listening,” she added,“in silence, to be sure.I listen closernow than before. It is a...

Give to Caesar what is his,namely, everything there is. I see a lot of eyebrows raised.Let’s check the books. You’ll be amazed. An x. An o. A hug and...

for Herbert Clancey Like the signature in maplewood               of sun-splashed rain, this man’s bright pattern must remain beside the workbench where he stood               smoothing the grain. Deprived of work,...

The Skunk (Psalm 23) I am anointed too, brushed with his broad mark. He leads me safely through the alley in the dark. The Mockingbird (Psalm 98) Hub of...