Summer nights in the Rocky Mountain West, the heat returns to hold your skin, the sunsets are long and poetic, telling stories across the hillsides as they go. Six years ago you sat here, too, your body made new, your heart stirred, the possibility of the Word turning you into your own homing beacon, you were a lighthouse.
We've gone a long way into the circles of hell, lately, waded around the bottom where all things go to die, but oy, it was not always such darkness, you were not always two eyes matted by hopelessness. You were a lighthouse.
You think maybe it's time you were,
again.
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