“her dangling braids the color of rain.”

“oh antic Godreturn to memy mother in her thirties leaned across the front porch the huge pillow of her breasts pressing against the railsummoning me in for bed.I am almost the dead woman’s age times two.I can barely recall her songthe scent of her handsthough her wild hair scratches my dreams at night. return to me, oh Lord of then and now, my mother’s calling,her young voice humming my name.”

“was my first landscape, red brown as the clay of her georgia.”

“You might as well answer the door, my child,the truth is furiously knocking.”

“blessing the boats(at saint mary’s)may the tidethat is entering even nowthe lip of our understandingcarry you outbeyond the face of fearmay you kissthe wind then turn from itcertain that it willlove your backmay youopen your eyes to waterwater waving foreverand may you in your innocencesail through this to that”

“the lesson of the falling leavesthe leaves believesuch letting go is lovesuch love is faithsuch faith is gracesuch grace is godi agree with the leaves”

“I am running into a new year and the old years blow back like a wind that I catch in my hair like strong fingers like all my old promises and it will be hard to let go of what I said to myself about myself when I was sixteen and twenty-six and thirty-six but I am running into a new year and I beg what i love and I leave to forgive me.”