From pulpit to pew the words land wrong, wrestling with each other.
I ask, “What will I lose if I lose myself to You? What will I leave behind?”
It’s too much to consider so I remain as I am. Or is it that I have returned
To find You waiting in my dust and have dismounted?
I place my own dusty feet in the sea, pour out my bottle of tears over
Yours…And ask instead, “What will I gain?”