The wind spins and shines each word
as it rises from his mouth.
New day breaks white our hearts and
bitter quilts of human experience unravel.
For but a moment we are
outside time, space,
the folly of words
and all is willow, sky,
pregnant buckets of pure water
soaking us, arms wide open,
lifted as children.
"Storms will come," we hear him well-
but our bruises are healed
before they appear,
our affections are sealed
with calvary.
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