would it be something clouds could form?
swirls of fog and grief, weightless and fleeting
as soon as i put my hand through it.
my sister saw the Lord in cotton domes
overhead. no one believed her but still
with the sun in our eyes
we wanted to see.
You'd more likely be
a diamond-spot with a bullet punched through.
every pulse would mean a little less
of You.
i wanted You close, but how
could i bear it? Your love that feels
like two hands turned up, asking for more.
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