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by John Kinsella

Where the church cracked in the quake
we could open and see the people;
lines are decades old but invoke
those moments of being fearful.

The flooded gums that hold the river
are dying before red roots reach
foundations—prayers deliver
either too little or too much.

The sun pulls the town together—
hint of green, frosty mornings;
church door is locked to outsiders,
cracks follow mortar, bricks, bell rings.


John Kinsella’s new volume of poetry is Divine Comedy: Journeys Through a Regional Geography (W. W. Norton, 2008). His Disclosed Poetics: Beyond Landscape and Lyricism was published in 2007 (Manchester University Press/Palgrave). (1/2010)

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