You read me, don’t you, Holy One?
You see my hopes
You feel my fear
You know the quick intake of breath that opens up my heart.

The thing is …
When you read aloud, as you sometimes do,
I hear the story, new.
It is as if I meet myself
Within those spoken words.

And – this is the mystery –
I like what I hear.
My story held in the timber of your voice,
Turns beautiful.

Amazing.

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