Take us all back, dear God, to our stainless childhood. Love us, see us, pause us, in those sepia toned moments of round bellied eagerness and awe.
Even farther.
Take us back to red-faced, clenched-fisted, raging infant days. Take us, make us, into complete dependence, weakened states: thin spined, jerking movements, ignorant limbs, blinking, near-sighted eyes.
Oh God, even farther. Take us to your womb. May our souls return to you, white mists of beating being: breathing, inhaling, ingesting, only what first passes through you.
Take us back, dear God. We are sin weary in world weary bodies. We have grown so old, in need of nothing but the impossible: to be born again.
I do not care about the how, anymore: only of the possibility.
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