How a slick-yet-silly action franchise finally became a metaphor for Christ.

On finding the divine in the ordinary.

There are days when I consider the very real possibility that I don’t actually enjoy poetry, that I only muscle through it all out of some misbegotten sense of English majory duty.

On what you hear in the silences.

On the undercurrent of Hope For Zion threading its way through the Ted Chiang adaptation.

Since we refuse to forget…

For your end of the summer.