The tree stands still, quiet, indifferent. The house sways on stilts. the opposite direction of hope, trying to logic my way out of God’s existence. Someone will say, it’s time to return to the space where drops hung
The tree stands still, quiet,
indifferent. The house sways
on stilts. the opposite direction
of hope, trying to logic my way out of God’s existence. Someone will say, it’s time to return to the space where
drops hung