If I could but draw will from the well
to fill my words –
to pray it not say it all the way through.
If I could but draw will from the well
to fill my words –
to pray it not say it all the way through.



I have friends afar,
moonlight people whose messages
arrive in the morning.
I answer and am
to them
a moonlight people too.


I am the box
lid open
not big enough for God
so flat now
wide as a box can be

Me, the refugee?
My red-white eye
and blue blue sigh
and hope for self-evident truth?