Splendor through the fence

I could be a quark or an hurtling star,

A duck or a chicken

Living on one side of a beat-up plank fence

With knots in it, and scooped out holes

Signifying they all used to be trees

and the fence and the yard and the girl are just

Another kind of spaceship

Prone to sunset

Nothing can stop the Splendor from breaking through

Every hole in the fence.

From the River

come at some peril to watch

The wind do what it wills

And the river contend with it

Begetting crests then waves, blues then greens, blues then greens

A million times a million times a million

Breathing in and out, back and forth all the way to the sea

Of clouds above us

Moving fast

haloed in the most unearthly light

Oh ordinary sun, willing to be

Obscured, taken for granted

Like the God who made you

And all your endless



What if God were just twice as smart as you? Twice as nice. Twice as precise. Would you worry then, Darling?

Worry about the things He would tell you

Before, not after, the flood

The possibility of both

Righteous anger and a casual


Blast of glory

Refuting all the

niggling details of narcissism

And all your little monsters

Eyeing you hungrily from their corners

Waiting to take all

The clues, the love-notes, the blazing stars

He has strewn about this place

Only hope for


The Space Between Us

I see the man making models of planets in his meticulous, scienc-y basement then lining them up like a photographer arranging and rearranging a family portrait,

Mercury, you stand here…Jupiter if you could squeeze in by the ping-pong table

Or the final run and podium judgment of the Westminster Dog Show

It is a neat trick

Of human folly to think we can order the objects floating in an infinite sky, make them feel smaller than they are, more manageable

When even the moon is beyond us

Its insistent pull and reflective splendor

Missed so often in the ordinary

Night sky

As we pack all the objects of this solar system

Between us

Furniture against the door of Love


How do atheists turf their ghosts? Wispy girls, long gone, in their place, algorithms, aggregates, the trees were old back when we were young, how wise they will be when we have left this place.

Who will bear the children of the dead? Who will tell the grown man

How pretty, how young you looked in your operatic yukata, how many letters have been written for you, all for you

Careful, I say, careful.

measure out impossible prayers to a Most Evident God

As though they were

Leaves caught in the wind

Number Girl One

A parsec* is a unit of length used to measure astronomical objects outside the Solar System equal to about 3.26 light-years. What, you ask, is a light-year?

Good question.

A light-year is the distance traveled by light (in a vacuum) in one Julian year (365.25 days), not a unit of time, but of distance. Abbreviated as “ly,” you could say it is love you. Love you for light-years…lyfly, forever.


Come to the

come to the dark

stones skipped along the surface 

will sink into concentric ghosts

these stars 

hard to measure 

Line up–

School girls in bright

White dresses 

Wade in

knees, waist, chest

As if they had forgotten

They are luminous,

formed of fire and light.

Who is

The man
Too thin to be real
Standing on the beach
With the sky behind him?
Endless sky
Endless sky
Mirrored in a shallow sea
To have time in your hands
And eternity in your eyes
With the sky behind you?
Standing on the beach
Too thin to be real