I’ve launched my flare into Your sky. 

Along with another. 

It’s hard to wrestle with 

the night inside of me, 

to unclaw its grip. 

Windy arms shove in this 

struggle against gusting flesh. 

They thrust and settle, 

nudge and sleep, 

drive and ambush, 

always in this night, 

where sky doesn’t befriend shine, 

and warmth is just a word. 

I’ve flashed my cry into 

Your heaven, Lord. 

This body of death, 

heavy as death in body, 

heavy as the weight of struggle, 

wears the hands of gravity. 

When was I not fallen? 

Earth-bound and sin-infected? 

Yet what part of me will

not trek under the

One brighter than

legions of luminaries that 

bespeckle darkness? 

What part of me, fastened, 

wincing, falling, is not


on a path that is

like the dawn’s light, 

which shines brighter and 

brighter until full day?


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