Is April cruel if it draws from earth, however hard, whatever aching thaw, with however contracted labour, some stirring? How old were you? How young? Not yet unwombed Crueller, the long past, the waste the words left Cruel is the month after and a hemisphere after and a century after
Wine was made from water Gallons, litres, what measurement Counts miracle wine? Taste it! Swirl and catch the light Swish it around your mouth Suck in air, breath through its quality Drink deep his glory, The Uncountable Word Alpha and Omega Was and With Of God Lamb for Sin life
For Evie, when she holds my hand. Arriving, we expand from the car. And I wait while you collect your stuff, the unfathomable bits of personified fluff that you have trapped in your orbit: Soft toys; knitted ropes; lipper; crumpled notes. The accretion disk of your formation. I, your natural
For Evie When you see what I have seen And see it better When you love what I love, and better, Then let my hand slip from yours Do not grasp And let me fall behind you on the strand And pass Let me see one last thing you have
[a nativity poem in three trimesters] The First Trimester Miriam’s chromosome in courting spirals Embraces another, such an other — an unfathomable Y. All the junk, viral, evolutionary, specific, sanctified, elected, DNA of humanity in his threadbare pockets. An utterly adopted son. A why of Adam and of Miriam’s