August showed up on my doorstep this morning;
standing there barefoot in her own storm.
I reached to bring her inside, but she brought me out instead.
We walked in her rain. I timed my breath to her thunder.
We talked about sunlight; a thing we currently had
no evidence even existed.
She told me faith is muscled in disbelief,
worked ropey and strong by that long, aching reach
past uncertainty into nothingness.
That hunger for something true,
time and time again.
Faith is moment stacked on moment,
a spiritual strata of impermanence and breath.
That’s what she said.
We walked quiet for a long time.
She rained harder.
It’s okay, I get it.
July’s a tough act to follow.
I promised I’d hold her hand until
we’re rock solid faithful.
Until the moon outshines the sun.
Until September, for sure.
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