About
Alex Brouwer
All Content by Alex Brouwer

But like stone
Were the world of my own making, could my will enact its voice, I should surely sculpt a chaos, pain parading as a choice. […]

Beneath the shifting skies: for Christ Church Bellingham, an English sonnet
Beneath the shifting skies where I once walked, bloodwine and burning light bring sober sight. If you go, maybe you’ll leave, and you’ll talk like me, with holy limp and heart alight. […]
