Thursday, May 19, 2011


There is a distant disc
by a giant fire,
too far to be warm,
but too near to stray.

Let’s call the fire sun
and the circle Pluto
or, if you please,
God and me.

I would rather be the Earth,
jagged but lush,
living but ever half-hushed.
Make me a churning torrent
or a yearning plain,
a vicious desert or the pelting rain.
Make me anything but a vacant satellite
that’s crestfallen from grace.
Make me a place
of contradictions,
mercy’s sad and glad face,
always turning
yet further from straying—
warmer and praying,
warming and staying.

by Troy Cady

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