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Cold, spiny.

Wind that sucks the sap from your skin

The sky itself is frozen blue

Yet i am safe while i can light one soft candle

My mind can burrow further than the cold can freeze

My eye can dance on the ice even when i dare not open the door.

For the strength of God rests in seeing beauty even as the last leaf is blown away from the trembling tree.


Alabama Thunder Storm

What is my work today?

Sew together peanuts and corn that cling to the palate;

Cup my hands bowl-like to dowse in clean water;

See the first oily leaves of bean sprouts in the garden.

Do they portend a bright future?


I mend my heart by giving to others.

No disaster can ramrod my hand which I stitch to yours.

The storm, by nature, is quick in its fury.

Hope, by nature is weak. The mangrove trees dip their leaves in watery soup.

Storm after storm their roots shoot up and around, ebbing and rising above fragility.


The work is easy even as my feet are covered in mud.

What I give is not haphazard, but a rare epiphyte

Even the blind one knows her work is to notice.