There are always the smiles that stay with us
longer than we would like —
teeth, teeth, and teeth,
once incisor, now fang
waiting to tear at the fragility of me
to bite and taste the saltiness of all my parched parts
but then, a bursting light of You,
and I remember the ways You made these gears fit,
the way You took your divine sculptor's knife and chisel
to chip away at all the corrupt things
and find the image you hid, long ago
Oh! The corrosion! The filth!
No wonder it is taking so long!
In the face of Your mighty hands,
my feeble fingers insist on clinging to my old self
often
Give it back! I know nothing else!
and most importantly,
Who will I be once it is all gone?
Who will I be without my old skin?
You smile, and call,
All you must do is allow me to show you.
