As I drove home, I thought: we should all bless the darkness.
If mercy, in her cold rain, should slide us off of the road, then all that we owe and have owed can be erased.

(Sometimes you'll remember nothing but a face. Sometimes both life and war are waste.)

But when we pray we seek not simply to use our voices.
We give our venerations now with wine-stained lips and teeth.

(Someone will remember you, and someone will remember me.)

As we raise our mortal pleas we hope to be like candles.

(A candle is never diminished in lighting another candle.)

We press our hands and knees and backs against the darkness, and for the darkness we perfect our brightest smiles.
As we skid we know the car will handle, so long as candles continue lighting candles.