SANCTUM
INDIANA night
Star.
Light.
Light.
Light.
INDIANA I LOVE YOU
Mother’s daughter standing beside wet highway. Cattle
shadow-flocking toward the fence; brown; muscle-burdened,
watchkeeping modernity. She turns her head. The light.
ALONGSIDE
Trail-walking toward a city that’s no
salvation. The wind makes me
forget. And I am no longer walking. More moved. And my
daughter grabs my hand. Reminds me
of her day. Her flower drawings. She wants
to put them on the fridge. To see them every day. “You can
never have enough,” she says. Wants
to cover the whole fridge. “You can always have more,” she smiles as
she holds my hand, hair wind-blown;
not leading, but reminding.
IN THE LOGGIA
Breakfast outside. Green plates, white cloth. Sun, sober-meandering in its rise. There is no need for words as we sit. You’ve taken the Lord’s complexion: enduring love—a surrendering to discipleship. I only need remain.
GEORGE DIBBLE: