Author Archives: Timothy P. Schilling
I give to God what my camera gives to me
A muddy image in return
for perfect clarity.
Again one chooses to presume
that the spider’s bite is not deadly –
that the legs under the bed
have no toxin to share.
Is the oak divided
on a cold morning
when the sun strikes
and half its life is coming
and half the world is gone
Wide-eyed fish
Swimming in their spooky dreams
Silent visitor
The difference between smoke and the spirit
Does some taste
of ash remain
after the immolation
of untoward desire?
An Italian proud but dubious
confessed that he’d gone connubious.
He laughed at his fate
till he realized too late:
he was married to Mt. Vesuvius!
Peter on his feast day, looking back
The touch that loosed the shackle
was like that of a girl.
You don’t think she’s interested
until her fingertips
graze your arm.
Then you feel it
through your whole body.
I followed, of course,
right out that door.
But then she was gone.
Up and down the ladder
He lifts the smudge
that clips our view
of heaven bright and blue.

