"Nor do I seek to understand that I may believe, but I believe that I may understand.
For this, too, I believe, that, unless I first believe, I shall not understand." -St. Anselm
her cheeks are white apples,
browning in the fevered sun.
if it swells, you’ll have to come back,
she said, needle in hand.
this is what it takes to get the shards out.
open wild, she says.
your tumbling roof
I know we all must fall asleep.
I know there are paths
through the woods
that I do not know.
she leans out of my attic window.
my heart is a sinkhole. I fall in.