TABLE OF CONTENTS

yoga poetry

feels like a Sunday

stuff can wait…

up early before the others

the place to myself

light filtering in, catching things

blinking away the dust in these eyes

could be a Wednesday, but it feels like a Sunday

a license to linger, to roam

out beyond clapboards and pained glass, nature rambles its sermon

the others favor sleep, treasure it

and I, morning

tallying THiS blessing…

feels like a Sunday, or what i once knew that day to be…

unsubscribed

gathering

reshelving the scattered

and on the seventh day…

lighting candles, and wisdom

thanks, and grace

quiet, and answers

song, and spirit

clasped hands, and good will

lingering, and remembering

curious again…

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