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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?”

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