The Ascension, Sacramentary of Archbishop Drogo of Metz (ca. 842)
Tears turn the wheel
Grinding these hopes
but I’ll make bread from this
listless dust born of nopes.
Just give me, O Lord,
that ingredient least
that lifts me to live,
Your beneficent yeast.
The sound of NPR
Wheat growing
and the wind blowing,
and the implication,
not what is said
Still wondering
Lazy gods at the club on a Sunday
Praises come through the speakers.
Someone says, Turn it down.
I’ve yet to let
Go what’s gone.
In me the dead
will seed the dawn.
The flower of
this earthly wire
will climb to God
and then expire.
Moeders komen eraan
Falling
The heart’s a cloud in its very own sky —
Blotting its source
and cooling but why?
Leaving the library
Utrecht Journal 