“Tongues of Fire This is what's become of us: I am confused by mourning, and he is the sun that goes to sleep on top of me, undone by moonrise. Lover, all I speak is iambs and slant rhyme. That devil lamb of light called hope is sacrificed and none too pleased with having lost its bleat. The stone has rolled away but God's not gone and damn it, I'm no fan of the weather here, it rains too often, bones of doves and angel down until the ground stains red with sighs and blood. It is wet and cold. Will you explain again the why of all there is and how he caught me in the act, discovering God?”
Book:Heaven
