Do the bodies that put up dirt know anything well? 

Do they burst at the seams of God’s fear, victorious? 

If not fear, what lies at the shore of God’s rivers? 

What makes for all the rocks and stones?

He seldom takes form. That I know.

Yet it is unbearable, the trial and errors

do you love this? I don’t understand. 

I suppose there are exceptions.

God, I love my family.

I would die for my family.

I love my small dog.

I would die for my small dog.

Were all of us your family?