It hurts to think God doesn’t br love her dangling dainty pale br feet in life’s silvery flow flowing br like a wingy compressing air br against speed boiling like lead br in a vat or concrete hardening br hurts to see her flinging limbs br towards love forgetting the flow br silvery sizzling cramped. Who br is she her punishment is such? br Who is God a thing to allow br a silvery flow and bubbling br lead and cold insides hell and br a girl a slip a mere one born br to be cupped in loving palms br not reaching for what is out br of grasp. Who’s reader, poet, br with hurt defining God as if br it were possible remotely so.