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Family are those who do the will
of God, Jesus prepared the way for the
fallen, fallen himself, falling with man
and womankind away from physical
gardens and outer prosperity into the
broader earthly heaven of perfect effort.

Down the valley, skipping rocks, looking
up we spot the reason, a gold goal deep
ahead in horizons made by internal looks
and fortitude. Brave is the focused soldier,
fortified by night we escape the knowns
of day to reinvent and dream. Going down
farther, falling, reversing, we take our
youthful chance, a foray as choices yield into
today’s triumph, tomorrow’s failure.

We are sure we are one thing, then wake
up to a new set of weather and sun.

The game can be fun, not knowing, asking,
waiting for results of work, hoping.

Meanwhile there’s a dark black hole full
of love and goodness, we’re told, and we go
in. “Hairy,” we remark to a neighbor as we

“Indeed,” the friend replies, sucked down
now dead. What a thrilling thing to be in
between, the lies we tell children are not
meant but are by God seen.

If prosperity we never find, may we at least
keep the poverty that becomes smiles,
relatable to the child, who knows only now
and the dream of “how”