I swept the floor, this last time.
More miracles would be played out elsewhere, only as theater.Â Those heaven-bound can not cast their will towards our sweet eyes if for no other reason than a sense of fairness, at last.Â At last.Â Sickness is coming, though, as a tremor had assured less.Â Wait for the false remedy.
Remember the real acts of supernatural creation you saw here: old organs becoming new, love allowed for one more day.Â Just one more.
And the lights go out.
Text and Images Â© Andrew Auten – All Rights Reserved