People try so hard to be good, Lord
Maybe fall is all
We’re called to do
Maneuvering
Our friend on chess
In other games you win points or money
but here you just lose pieces
Would God but bend my will to God
The writer devolves
Scratchings
Clawings
The bore
Death goes on and on,
blabbing about his adventures
And yet
How a tragedy unfolds
Like light off a river
through the beams of a bridge
Coastal sunset
Utrecht Journal 