Little things,
like little devils,
miles from
where God lives–
bloodied noses,
dirtied knees,
and all the noise,
all the flesh,
all the chaos,
all the “too much”–
kicking, biting, screaming–
until I can no longer
hear the world’s
roaring wind,
its broken-up earth,
its light like fire,

Only the Still,
Small Voice that
devours it
all.

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