psalm
Verse and song

Plague Psalm 19
Bees needle our sin-stung flesh in your hive
Yet some kind of sweetness
still touches the tongue.

On Gratitude
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
Sometimes
multiplication
of loaves
just means
splitting
one loaf
between
two people.

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.

Baptism
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.