I remember you told me I move on fast. I like biking. The wind through my hair. Every day I bike up the same hill to my favorite coffee shop. And after my visit, I go back down that same hill. Pedal as fast as I can. And right before it steepens, I stop my legs, and God puts its hand on my chest. Its forehead against mine. Speeding down that hill, it holds me near. Fingers around my neck. My tires whirring like white noise. My body doesn’t have endings. It reaches. And else reaches me. Every time you let me go, every time you look away, I fall. When I fall, God is clearer. And I want to share it.