unforced rhythms of grace
The sun was setting as I waited in my car in the parking lot of my friend’s apartment complex, jotting down some ideas for a poem in my journal. I looked up as two boys, probably about ten years old, came racing down to the dumpsters, laughing, hauling their massive bags of trash above their heads and hurling them into
the ape and the donkey
a poem after C.S. Lewis’ book, The Last Battle
…O, how I want
to find you in the middle of everything…