the people are blank papyrus
upon which god writes her poems
the people are poems of grace
the poems are a blaze in the snowthe snow grows higher & higher
all the windows are covered
there are winding paths to the doors
but they are hidden under the snowthe people are walking poems
their limbs are covered in language
these bodies are eloquent prayers
burning paths through the snowthis woman, this man, they are poetry
this child is god's own song
these poems are grace made flesh
written in verse in the snow
POEMS
A - B
C - D
E - F
G - H
I - J
K - L
M - N
O - R
S
W - Z
MORE OF SB's POEMS
@WATERMARK |A Poet's Notebook
- Disclaimer
Please do not assume that I am the speaker/ subject of my poems.
In these times of creative nonfiction and fictionalized memoirs, I think of the poem itself as true fiction: it is most likely not factual, but it must be true.
It is likely to be -- it is best if it is -- a truth I did not know before I wrote, and may not understand even then.
A poem is my way of discovering (dis-covering) what I feel; sometimes, what I think -- but it is not necessarily biographical.
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