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Oxblood, bifold, kept In a back bedroom Closet all these years, It dates to my time Of adolescence, And has the…

Many may not notice the young rabbit, caughtin the thicket of brush near the bottom left-hand corner, because there is so much to seein the center: an angel of...

The people I want most to like all do it. I listen to their talk of swifts and tits, warblers and sparrows, cranes and jays and gannetscuckoos, grebes, and larks,...

You want a day as boring as a shrub, a high, departing plane the only sound...

A gray ordeal, these winters wrapped in scarves…

This poem was written by St. Francis of Assisi, and translated by Dana Gioia. Most high, all powerful, and most good Lord,Yours are the praises, glory, honor, blessings.Only to...

The leather binding, torn and askew,is barely joined by brittle pieces of Scotch tape.  And the names and streets, long since fled to a digital cloud of witnesses, are more like...

Remorseless sun     stunts the dew Glistening towers     of tainted glassignite and blister     in blood-yellow lightrecalling the tallest     of crumbling tombsas humbler...

I am so wearied by the ancient weight Of my own sins, by my bad habits’ load I go…

We promised Joshua that we would serve the god who brought us to this land. Of course...

Sunlight coruscates the ice and glitters, turning the chipped, green handrail to a ray of emerald only on display…

They intensify the courtyard’s evening chill, the dragon flutes, soaring with other woodwinds through variations...

He has been one acquainted with the darkAnd cold, the walks in rain across the hills,The vagaries of friends. Now, foxes bark Beneath the pallid moon. The little owls Cry...

First Place — 2025 First Things Poetry Prize

Second Place — 2025 First Things Poetry Prize