The air itself, the pouring rain amongst
the heavy branches, the low clouds parading
across an infinite sky, the laughing child,
the unassuming talk of thoughtless mothers;
The heaving earth, the thick mud whispering
under her feet, the glory she has suffered
beneath a senseless dome, the nonsense words,
the confused grammar of a translated verse;
These things that wash a spirit through my heart,
course through my body like a wandering river
roams the unknown lands toward the ocean;
Yet none inspire me like the delicate person
receiving all my hurt, who holds my sin
to give account before the terrible judge.
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