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By That Heart Known

The young man in his cell     Receives his guestWho all his heart should tell     And leave there blest.In quiet companyWe shall a marvel seeAs every thought shall be     By that heart known. To Rome the pilgrims came     Poor as God chose . . . . Continue Reading »

Inniswood in September

The forest still is rich, if not as green,As flecks of gold and umber decorateThe canopy, and caterpillars crawlUp grasses tipped with ochre. ByzantineBrown-banded honeybees investigateThe beds of Black-eyed Susans. Pumpkins lollBeneath their broad-leaved vines. I see the Fall Arriving, and I feel . . . . Continue Reading »

Comb of Leaves

Enough, I am to crumble to the floor;But all around me are perceptive eyes.I feel like going to my Father’s doorWhere His house with its many mansions lies. There shall I praise Him with tongues manifoldBorrowed from sounds and scents, from clouds and light,From leaves of poplar combing streams of . . . . Continue Reading »

Waning Moon

A translation of Mario Dell’Arco’s“Luna calante” Pendant around the neck of night:ringed by Taurus, Capricorn,Ursa Major on the risebefore so many fiery eyeslittle by little, whittles to a horn. —Marc Alan Di . . . . Continue Reading »

The Prodigal Son’s Next Life

He forgave firstnot forgivinghimself before as he then forgavethe dust trailing his stepsfaithful as his shadow, as one who has gottenaway with somethingforgives a fallen nestling, a lost yearling,another selfwho never turned back from a landof lean cattleand empty of bees. —Andres . . . . Continue Reading »


Without warning, they appear, eachcluster separate from the next, goldbeads strung on strands of grass,glowing on the darkest days beneaththe fringe of summer trees, though whoknows how, or where they came from?Yet faith, not knowledge, is the sourceof hope that each bright blossom bringsalong with . . . . Continue Reading »


Tiny packets of life, these seeds. They seeminvisible in our busy days, and, tossedby shoes, or cracked by birds, or cast by breezeamong the weeds and stones, they might be lost;might be scorched, or washed away—or, worse,bloom in all their grace, and be ignored—but some of them take . . . . Continue Reading »

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