DiaBLOGue

Baptism

The old man bent and balding 
is lowered into the water. 
At that small moment of burial 
he remembers his mother, thinks 

El Cordero de Dios

Driving from Hollister to Santa Cruz late morning, I
stop at San Juan Bautista to grab a sandwich. 
All the signs point toward the Mission, so I keep driving.
Brown-skinned Mexican kids swirl around the plaza

Triptych-History of the Church

I feel grace descend like whiskey-scented 
oil poured over me in the upper room on 
my way to heaven. I dance in the heat of 
a fire, like ghosts following Sitting Bull 

Martin in Me

Three times I take his words into my mouth 
and make them thunder from my tongue. 
His final speech will not remain unsung in me. 

Confession

The trees wear 
            copper-lit skin tonight. 
Spread out and still in the cold, 
they look like slender Kenyans 
                        holding up thousands of hands, 

Thousand Springs

It snowed yesterday for a moment
            but it was an idea 
                        that didn’t catch on —