I look at people and like what I see

They are chatting. He pats him

on the shoulder. He is cold.

They walk away.

She is sitting scrolling. No

one bothers her and she does not

bother them. She has many,

family and friends, who love her.

And she loves them.

People are shopping, not stealing.

They want to look good and want

something nice for their children.

They are not blowing up buildings

or running cars into people.

They are just trying their best

as almost everyone always does,

as here the frost melts

and sheep eat grass

in a place where it already has.

Who you are

You won’t be passing out stones

or scorpions or wasps on the other side

of apples. You won’t be not holding

the ladder when he climbs,

or not looking when she crosses.

You’ll not wonder when you should know,

for you’ll know, though you’d rather not.

You’ll know and do what you should do

because you are who you are,

the man, at last, you were meant to be.


We used to speak of the thingification

of grace, which was a bad thing,

but now I think love,

to use its proper name,

is indeed a stuff,

weightless and invisible,

we can get our hands on.

It’s from where everything always is

and is flowing,

if we let it,

through us to all the rest

to give us and it


Better this theology,

wrong as it may be,

than me and my will

manning up

to obey the law repeatedly.