D.S. Martin (bio)

Little globes of sky cling to leafless stems
pearls in the damp light
How can we harvest such ethereal wealth?

Since the meek will eventually possess the world
when we grab for God’s hem
we always come up with fistfuls of self

Snow patches look like grounded gowns
that no longer fit
as though his angels had abandoned them

& condensation drips from black branches
When we set our traps for God
he won’t be caught The trick is knowing it

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