An Aleatoric Canticle Bryce Langston
Sing to the Lord a new song. Rearrange what is, for there is nothing other than what has been and what He has made. Old creation be in a new way— in difference of billionths, proclaim the glory of God.
Poetry The leaves of branches sprout, fall in reverence upon a grassy altar waving palms bow and rise, dry and lay prostrate the hair of a newborn grows just as a blossom universe unfolds. Sing to the Lord a new song, though there is nothing new here— sing to the Lord a new song.
Spring 2021
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