RABBI, hiding at forest’s edge, watching pogrom’s smoke.
SUING for justice a bitter thought; none would take the case.
RISEN in his mind are God’s angels, appearing for the scattered.
SWOOP down, Michael and Gabriel: proclaim God our protection!

Blooms to come

DROLL, a hard start to a poem, describing thoughts well along in growth.
ROCKY ground for germinating verse plant; it would not have gone
AMISS had the the seed word been
SPICE, setting up a sensory burst at the start. As it is, blooms are in the offing.

Early Oddness

PASTE: something some children furtively eat, with no idea why,
FATTY, not yet a concern to the omnivorous child, and
TWICE as hard later to be thoughtful about consumption, for
SIGHT dominates our appetites—reflective faith must be born later.


SCENE! Filming The Tempest’s opening, tenth reshooting of the doomed ship.
BLARE of safety horns, summons for weary actors to assume their stations,
BRINE-soaked, weakly, starting to
INFER that the world’s an ocean, and we its swimmers, soon to drown.


CANON, a song of timed entries, weaving of sounds, staggered, yet same.
FAUNA, scurrying through burrows and hollows, for food and sleep.
FLEET, slipping from bay to channel, then on guard, sweeping the main.
SMITH, these patterns for muse, seeking to hammer order from fire.