blessings
imagine the air between us // altared
blessings believe blessings to come by the grace of contingent beings which by their nature imply death or at least a wearing down meaning rocks too bless and god might be a rock if a rock weren’t worn by wind by waves by the crash of worry through rhythmic thumbs but god is not a rock god is not even that which wears it from one state to the next god for all our exaltations has no hand in the play of blessings when our hands meet over a table when they meet here as we send our grace outward imagine the air between us altared the dusting of some newborn skin with water made holy by our communion
I’m doing a good job. You’re doing a good job.
-bad_french