If every time you said my name I could pluck it from the air like an amber bead, I would collect enough of them to make a rosary so I can pray to the one who gave you voice.
I’m on a train speeding through the countryside as a thunderstorm rages outside in the fields. In the distance rain clouds gather like a group of bullies on the schoolyard. The rain taps the trees in a game of tag. I’m thinking about God.