God whose hands hold my soul, flesh falling aside
God who sees my essence
Who am I that you would leave a place filled with the candle glow of comfort and crisp white sheets
That you would fit your ocean into a body so small, so fragile
That you would wrap yourself helpless to become Help
A diamond in the dingy pocket of a thief
The lost remedy to our greatest disease
God of three
God who washes filth from our foot soles with his very own hands
God whose blood runs deep rivers through grey forgotten houses
God of three
Three denials
Three redemptions
To find one lost sheep
Good stuff, Miranda.
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