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Knuckles come together, not fitting, only set against each other. Slightly worn like the edges rushing on the ground, jeans like the wind wrapped 'round the trees, trees splitting through the sky. Needles and white walls, cloud walls, shattering into blue ponds of sea-green glass. The gravity is backward and sucking the trout into space, beyond burning stars lives the edge of comprehension, not fitting our minds. And,

wrapping sheets- twisting 'round our ankles, pale harsh light, the glow like winter dawn, dawn grasping at shredded feathers that are broken halfway through. Flurry of brown; mud is shouting from its' grave, screaming down the skies to water its' cracked skin. Tiny ripples and streams gather, always at the lowest point, to create a refuge like Ishmael -- now God hears.

He is looking for hearts burning with purity and fists together, whom he puts together none may separate. His holy fire lives under our ripping masks, shredded feathers like cradles, will fall to the ground when our backs break.

Down on our knees when our backs cripple forward and the dust fills our mouths,

our hearts will be re-strung with piano strings to sing praise.
Our voices a shout louder than raging water,
shaking palms will fit into yours-- we will not be swept under.
Blessed sons and daughters, this is the end,

and your love will wrap around us like wind,
Your love will wrap around us like wind.