Verse and song
Plague Psalm 19
Bees needle our sin-stung flesh in your hive
Yet some kind of sweetness
still touches the tongue.
But there was love, love, love,
dripping from our hands.
We both gripped the sharp edge,
and it was painful
Two Poems by Joe Gross
Poems for the Cruelest Month
All of the intensity and unpredictability of this season, the surges of hope and terror, the stirring of memory and desire—word images, symbols, and sounds arranged in rhythm, engaged in elegy and mystery may be our best bet for helping us hold it all.
The still surface lifted by morning fog
as if a bed sheet
that I’m beneath, in the silt, hair reaching,
skin frog-throat white
Buddha Loves Me, This I Know
Some folks act just like they hate ya/ But all dogs have a Buddha nature.
Searching for Bach
The cello sounded like heaven. Or whatever heaven sounds like when you’re twelve.