my heart awakens like the unfurling petals and leaves around me, brightens like pink and white cherry blossoms splashed over green leaves and blue sky yet hunger lingers in my soul, builds and grows like the neighborhood creek after these spring storms, a thirst for the vigor of its waters: full and flowing, energy bursting through distractions and weariness to follow after and follow through to the oasis of ultimate satisfaction and perfect rest— the kind of thirst that does not stop until I find it: the presence of God it is, vitally, the meaning of Easter the gift of the Resurrection: God’s...

the blue and yellow lines around our umbrella   the sparkling stripes laid wide and long across the ocean, alternating with the darkness of water   the glossy emerald stripe just off the shore between lines of frothy white waves   and that one cherished silver stripe around your finger gleaming gold against the hot sand

Today is my wedding day, and my father will read this poem during my ceremony.     Today is like the new wine flowing from the hands of Christ at the late hour during the wedding of Cana It is like the first blooms of spring and the brilliance of sunrise after the sunset before a long winter: Today is a tree of life. Today is the wonder of divine redemption after the death of dreams, like Isaac’s ram on the mountain It is like a feast at harvest, the evidence of seeds unseen cultivated by Sovereign hands: Today is a promise received. Today is a reflection of God who is faithful in covenant love,...

brown oak leaves finger the slender grass, deep with memory   poplar leaves in varying shades of ochre pile calf- and ankle- deep over the terraced deck   the pointed red stars of Japanese maples plaster the sidewalks like confetti after a parade   old trees—sycamore, maple, cherry and apple—   arching over creeks and country roads, marching up and down the hills, strip in the breeze, holding onto both gold and pennies, sifting their treasure in measured sums   my hometown in autumn counts the years one leaf at a time— meted memories, dropped tokens of every forgotten summer...

I miss the glass stars we hung in the kitchen window at Christmas time,   blue, orange, red, the big one in the middle with the candle.   Light of the old year gone, candlewick spent. Decorations and ornaments put away the last few days of December   stripping the old year bare, back to its unadorned state. The holidays are like dresses, fancy, glamorous, long and covering. Fireworks that illumine what—the year going or the one coming?   We won’t know until this December 31, when the same window stars have come and gone once more   and this year’s white wax is spent.  ...