I Am Like the Rock In Horeb

I am like the Rock in Horeb, an island in the gray sea of the wasteland of Sin; unmoving, unhidden, stubborn to the stars. Strike me, break me open at the dry fractures where spiders spin lace around dry husks, and the whirling grain of sand births no pearl. Let life flow from the fissures,…

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The Beckoning Bees

I walked up the little hill with the grass washed away by the gray rain and the brown mud under the threatening sky that followed the steps of my journey, to the crooked, tangled grove at its crown, three trees I had seen from the path in the valley, bare and sere despite the torrents…

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A Signpost to Memory

There is a magnolia tree, old and sheltering, growing in a backyard in the middle of the Bronx. From the center of a concrete patio, its gray-white trunk and branches twist with emerald leaves into a pale blue sky. In the Spring, its pink and white blossoms sweeten the air; in Autumn a golden carpet…

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