Lost Pond, Appalachian Trail November 9, 2016
Lost Pond, Appalachian Trail
November 9, 2016



edge to cross this aftering,
disdain mind nor aching wing,

twig to mark the path you steep,
heart to let its surfacing.

hold the shore, G*d praying keep
far the distant trumpeting,

war to more its king (or queen),
breathe again your christening.

+ + +


Grand Beach, Maine

“Cross over to the isles and see…if there has ever been anything like this!”
-Jeremiah 2:10

how did you come to stay this place?
our want, our turning, seeking face.
how yearn you here our struggle taste,
its edge to risk, our learning wake.

how under this your star-dome wait,
day span hold us, loving take?
strand to walk for kin-dom’s sake,
Maranatha, fasten pray.

to poet the word

to stay clear the shrub,

to risk not the fire,

to hold fast the salt-plain,

to pray out the flood.


to hew down the hillside,

to un-see the vision,

to forego the silence,

to un-hear the word.


to hunker the moment,

to profit the tyrant,

to loyal a dynast,

to return the dream.


to lower from round-top,

to tree by the water,

to root deep in giving,

to drink in the world.



Jeremiah 17:5-8


for one doubting the use of shrubs, shade,
and things growing green.



from not home

“How long, O Lord?” 

– Psalm 13

“from not home”

lost upon a wave of earth,
metal glinting poured out sun,

red stick marking boundary
where the leaving cry beyond.

moss that twined us once as kin,
now denying, roots undone.

shade to cool us, gather in,
edges slipping far from home.

we are not the way you give,
under cypress knee and gone,

breath of life returning you,
spirit praying send us God.


“Baton Rouge” > French “red stick”,
for an early marker on the Mississippi River.