Length of days.

Stretched desire

thin. A thin slice

of passion for the

lost connection

with You.

Hurried, distracted,

brink of brick on brick

and the mortar between.

Where are You?

Do You see us?

Do you see me

behind this wall

of mine?

This thick skinned

membrane, memory

brained elocution

where words fence

me in, and attempt

to keep distance

from Your editing.

Come, check my

cobbled diction.

Free this sentence,

this self-relying status

of trying to figure

things out.

Help me to humbly

figure You,

To read You word for word.