Church is poetry. Poetry is life. A life well lived.
held out, reaching
empty spaces, vacuous trances
silence held in sacred space
A million trains travel through my head daily. I miss every damn train. I arrive at the depot, out of breath, with frantic nerves from tireless searching, and grief enmeshed between pores. Looking into the glass-enclosed diorama, I strain to see the impervious face of my heart.