Johanna Caton, OSB

I don’t mean knitting circles, or musical circles  with their hums and dainty tunes. I certainly...

             The sun rode              like a dude: He rode the sky—gold capes thrown              by clouds splayed              across his way...

Most of them are un-showy now. And: they are holy slowly. Long haul miracles, call them, because the cure is in the daily:...

September steals in on tiptoe— a shy child, clutches August’s hand, conceals her face.  Her lustre’s up before sunrise, though—silken breeze,...