Sorry to fall off the earth like that, it's kind of a long story. The short of it is I'm moving for a job and should be settled completely in a week. Try not to be too offended either - I've treated my phone, e-mail and diet much in the same way.
I suppose I'll leave you with something I pulled from my pocket a moment ago. I was out of new books and looking through Marilynne Robinson's Gilead on the plane the other night when I had a peculiar impulse. Those of you who know me are surely aware that I don't write poetry. Not even in my private journal. Perhaps you're about to find out why. At any rate, it beats a blank page. Happy New Year.
--- --- ---
The speed of day
Is rare the same for this man
This man's son.
So at this dawn
And in this hour
The world is just begun.
Pray he lift him
Up and up
To taste tomorrow's rain.
Then bring him down
And wipe his brow
Reach touch the rainbow's stain.
If Love is real
Then God is fair
And hearts are wrong to fear.
But at this brink
With child in arm
The Word is not at ear.
And if it be a sin
Then sin
Just hold his person near.
