You always are. I’m
struck by the beautiful
absurdity of that; its marvelous audacity.
My thoughts, trailing to and fro in time
get lost in a whirling miasma,
my every construct dissipating
at the far reaches of possibility.
But even in holding myself apart,
crying out in my own brief flare,
I take remarkable comfort
in the ill-defined notion that Someone –
You, at least You, (You You You)
always were, always are and always will be.
My heart leaps for You, for Your singularity,
for Your unimaginable existence: You . . . Who Are.
O child of God, when will you stop examining truth
through the blurry loupe of your own intellect?
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