it is only the quietest
and smallest miracle
that has me believing in god
and it sounds so specifically of rain
in my beaten heart
there are eight seasons
god in believing me
has that miracle
smallest and quietest
we are strange machines
with the familiar text
of a foreign language
a consciousness
that condenses an existence
into a single word
again and again
distilled to points of light
that dance
four are freed
goodnight you
beast fever
nine are forgiven
all of you
all of you
all of you
