Monthly Archives: December 2018


literally “a holy place,”

a place “set apart” for
birds and creatures
grasses and trees,
to grow in safety
as they were intended,
free from human
exploitation and greed,
that they might continue
to glorify their maker
by being what they are,
and, in so doing,
to worship.

more commonly,
a place “set apart” for
conspicuous religious expression,
the singing of songs and
the reading of sacred texts.

in truth, the meanings are
the same, as
is nothing more
than the enjoyment of
God’s good world,
our own place within it, and
the acknowledgement
of his good gifts.

for, as those texts tell us,
this universe was created
to be God’s sanctuary,
his cosmic temple,
his holy “place.”
that it does not function as such,
so that pieces of it must
be labeled and protected,
is a failure only of those he entrusted
as “priests,”
tasked with its care.

that there is greed, violence,
corruption, hatred, and evil
is a sacrilege, a
of God’s place of worship.

for one,
am looking forward,
to its final restoration.
when, as St. Paul said,
it is finally released from
its bondage to decay,
we, too, are raised to walk
in new bodies,
on a restored earth
where those who live,
acknowledge him as king,
honor his temple,
and worship him in spirit and truth.

Until then, we,
with all of the cosmos,
must groan as in the pains of childbirth
clinging to these first fruits
as we await our revelation
as his children–

as we await the restoration
of these bodies in his new


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being alive





she lays still
in delicate repose
having once overflowed
with song
and burgeoning vivacity
with the eagerness
of a new mother she
prepared her nest
in anticipation of
its coming inhabitants
though she was
cut short, her body still
speaks to the joy
of being alive

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the road

the good earth wears the road,
marred as a blight cut deep into its flesh
and covered with false stone
unnatural, an affront to those
creatures it loves and provides for;
the road produces only hurry
and danger, dry heat and smog

like all things living, the ground
ceaselessly works to to eradicate
that which scratches and vexes it
it breaks it down
roots it up
swallows it under

the skies, in solidarity, send
their rains and sun, ice and heat
in hopes of restoring the grasslands
it has disfigured, and the
mountain sides it has defaced

but the earth-itching wound is
ever repoured, ever patched,
ever built-up by those whose
economy is unsynced with
the notion of place and peace.
it knows only
progress and movement
never stillness or quiet;
it knows only utilization
never association
a market of fracked valleys
and blown mountains
and pillaged places
and people


in the deep forgotten places
where there is no utility left
for greedy exploiters
where what could be looted and sold
is gone
the road cracks, and something
green emerges
the birds sing and the deer prance
and the earth slowly restores itself
over this crumbled road
leaving only a faint mark, a
memory receding whose value
is lesson

and I am happy
that God has made us, also,
to live and to heal and to wear
these scars

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