Let us coward behind the clouds and ignore the tender skin
that is still in repair from the night the sky condemned us.
So, the boy can see us and look beyond us, towards some unwell thought
of a metaphor that will bring him a day closer to enternal grace.
And when the boy grows old he will reminisce on the day he felt the hand of God.
He will close his eyes and rest his head on stone, thinking he will finally go home.
He will die and be forgotten.
On Earth, on us, and beyond us, we will live without the listless name.
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