amid jacked-up headlines

tragedies and travesties

despite absolute exhaustion

amid fudged intentions and spoilt dreams

amid death and devastation

despite the treachery and trickery

there is glory

*

there are Lisa and her humble servant

singing Britpop from 40 years ago

on our way home from a Xmas gathering

*

there is the underthrum of Grace

like the palpable pulse of Mary's cat

as it sprawls in her poem-birthing lap

*

there is glory in the queerness of life (all senses)

there is glory where the undiscerning do not perceive it

in soot-encrusted snow

in winter-shrivelled leaves

in Harvard Square and in Cooke’s Hollow

in the old mill brook that reeks of industry

in the weary in the bleary in the teary

there is glory in St James’s Church

there is glory in J---- who may have to read this litany

there is glory in the lacksleep

there is glory in the prisoners whose hopes refuse to die

there is glory whenever someone listens

instead of lectures or hectors

whenever someone sings

whenever someone stands

and quietly speaks

one purest clearest truest word

there is surely glory

*

whenever someone dares

with trembling courage with quavering bravery

to be whoever she was meant to be

to say plainly to the world around her

I cannot be diminished or dismissed

whenever someone dares

to step away from toxic thought

when he embraces and ceases to judge

then love will coax from softening soil

some unmistakably immortal grace

some flower of inextinguishable light