Featured Selection of the Month:
June 2003

How is it midnight here, by the dial or by sun? We’re caught in eternity again: sun, never touching soil, descends without staircase, simpler than nude.

Birch in lunar contemplation reach moon’s blacker cheek, milk running from their hands. Shadows render us curious, fearful.

Time stills between the ridge and shore.

There is beauty in waiting for light, loving the length of light’s arrival -- not in time; in a trail of powder. The closest to darkness we get is pale blue, a lake we took to be the sky

until we found the sky, aslant and unexpectant. We draw on memory in response to the new and its vastness.

I am reminded of gravity: my grandmother and her fear of falling. Reminded of faith: a circle we cannot make blinded. This is the first I've seen

belief lives with and among the seen, in a landscape so grand I call on every shape my faith has taken, to try to fill it.

Suspicions linger: How can this be? and What's this I see? Try: this is the moon, as though only just tempered and cooled. This is the edge

of understanding. Believe me: it is difficult to practice far from the site of your revelation. Evidence slips from your hands.

I want to say I walked on water, pleading my place in this. I stood; it came under me. I was standing on stones.