Stonework is published by Houghton College, a Christian liberal arts college located in New York’s rural Genesee Valley. Stonework seeks a diverse mix of mature and emerging voices in fellowship with the evangelical tradition. Published twice a year, the journal reflects the arts community at Houghton College where excellence in music, writing, and the visual arts has long been a distinctive.

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  • Issue 6
    Poetry by Paul Willis and Thom Satterlee. Fiction and interview with Lori Huth. Essay by James Wardwell, and student poets from Christian campuses.
  • Issue 5
    Poetry by Susanna Childress and Debra Rienstra. Fiction excerpt by Emilie Griffin. Art from Houghton's 2007 presidential inauguration and a forum on women writing.
  • Issue 4
    Matthew Roth--new poems. Diane Glancy--from One of Us and an interview. John Tatter-on gardens and poetry. The Landscapes of John Rhett. Stephen Woolsey--on the poetry of Jack Clemo. James Wardwell--on Herrick.
  • Issue 3
    Poetry by Julia Kasdorf, Robert Siegel and Sandra Duguid. Fiction by Tom Noyes. The portraits of Alieen Ortlip Shea. An anthology of Australian Poets
  • Issue 2
    Thom Satterlee - Poems from Burning Wycliff with an appreciation by David Perkins. Alison Gresik - new fiction and an interview. James Zoller - Poems from Living on the Floodplain.
  • Issue 1
    Luci Shaw — new poems with an appreciation by Eugene H. Peterson & Hugh Cook — new fiction and an interview

Thursday, December 08, 2005

Light Gathering, January

By Luci Shaw

Yesterday the sky began to drop small
handfuls of snow, randomly, like fine
seed being scattered onto the rooftops
to rumor some generous intent. Or like pinches
of salt rubbed between bunched fingers
to season the season.

Crumbs of the white sky fall
and fall like so much mercy, hushed
and persistent, each crystal startled after
the long descent, a glistening prism that rides
down the window glass of the world
on the sled of its own melting.

Unexpectedly, the sun ignites the dust of
fallen stars and folds a congregation of light
into the half glass of water someone has left
on the window sill. The eloquence of fire in the room,
enameling the white wood and the pale wall
and the back of one hand with fans and feathers
of color so bright they’re unearthly.

I think a thaw is beginning, and now
I bless this afternoon for its golden drizzle,
drops of it hanging radiantly from the dogwood’s
naked branches as if everything,
everything, is suspended in their dazzling
lenses, the tears of the firmament caught
and held in strings of small planets.


Next: Revival March