Peace be with you

Am I really a leaf

turning out from the trunk of a tree?

Is the weight of the earth what’s steadying me?


I hang 

in this space, on these limbs

between core and cloud

the simultaneous root and reach of me.



The yellow of brittle and break

at the jagged edge of me. 

The edge of the patterned and planned

cut like a cookie by some wise hand. 


I am held 

in the eye of One who veins

the hazel of eyes and the green

of leaves. Yes, the One who sees, 

sees me,

and I want to fall.


I am in a time of trouble.


I consider the poor.

Will the Lord deliver me? 

What will my deliverance look like? 

From where will it come?


Oh, God,

I see

Trees. Gardens. Leaves

falling, falling



The silence of Adam,



When wrong is wrong,

he must learn his voice.

The Silence of Adam

Janay Garrick