Love, a ribbon of light,
troubles me from bed and
out the door,
unfurling and
curling back,
tying me to my neighbor
Love, a ribbon of light,
troubles me from bed and
out the door,
unfurling and
curling back,
tying me to my neighbor

Though we bang the door for answers
and throttle the concierge

First it snows blossoms,
then it snows hail,
then it snows snow

Not to myself, just dying.


When did you think,
when did you know,
and what did you see in the sky?
In loving memory of Fr. Paul Minnihan (1966-2019), who became truly the man God wanted him to be.
The mist you’re in
is light on the dirt
on my own window.
I’d clear if it I could,
to see you as you are.