Something like a torrent came today. Hard to say if anyone expected all the rain, how it showed up overnight, like the flu. They say grace is like that, like rain. Maybe because they both come at no one's behest: Heaven just about its business, shedding sheets of love, water, blessing. The only thing about it is duration, when the shower won't let up and everything soaks through. Fabric starts to smell or the basement floods. It all gets musty, moldy. It's partial to suppose this life, graced, is changed enough, like that's the whole of it. Not wrung, nor washed.
is the author of Contingency Plans: Poems (TS Poetry) and the album There There. His work has been featured in The Morning News, The Gay & Lesbian Review, The High Calling, Burnside Writers Collective, as well as The Pacific Northwest Reader, an anthology from Harper/Delphinium.