Friday, April 27, 2012


Breath in a clay flute
emptiness echoing sound
soul attending God.

Also an older poem:

Glory be to God for empty things
For trumpet-sounding turban shells on tidal shale
For church-vault cello echoes, chill and dim
Bells’ bellies swelling to the rock of rings
Heartspace, hollow as wooden ships under sail
Cliffs cleft by lightning, split to a ragged rim.

All things resonant, spacious, deep or shallow holes
Whatever is hollow, receptive, transparent-pale
Spilling nothingness over every acceptant brim
He fathers forth, we echoing empty souls
Praise Him.

My tribute to Gerard Manley Hopkins.

Collection available! Knocking from Inside