Sit with
the thought
of liquid gushing
from the
eye slits
of God—
the stars.
People ask how
He could be
All.
But look how many stars there are.
Pearly.
Pure.
Purely
frightening to muse on the breadth of
the universe—
His soul.
A star.
A breath.
The thought
that we are all He has.
Salt drips from His eyes
and rolls past my freckles—
He is all we have.
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