“Priesthoods and beasthoods, sombers and glees […]” – Christian Wiman

Just beyond the edge of dusk’s cold kiln, 
a startle of starlings over the ashen river,
black peppercorns against an eggplant sky,
incandescent without ever intending to be.

Scriptures and strictures, hallows and hollows, the tangible throb—

A woman with a cross atop her blouse
bellows blades outside the abortion clinic,
a man wearing a teal turban buys an extra 
maakouda for the beggar at the corner.

Harm or harmony—toward which will religion swerve?—

Meanwhile, an axolotl grins shyly;
green moss perches on parched bark; 
softly spiked virions float aimlessly,
get sucked into an unsuspecting lung.

This land a sea strewn generously with marvels and perils—

The jagged blue clefts of glacier ice,
the tomato hue of an altiplano laguna,
a stranger with lavender hair passing,
pennies glistening on the pavement.

Inspiration and aspiration, all we look upon and do not see—

A friend turns my way and the screen in
my hand seems weightless and worthless. 
After all these years, I’m still startled 
when I hear my name uttered by another.