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~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Oh, hear the angels' voices~ not in church hymns or sterling choirs, but in the trembling of moth wings against a porch light's glare, in the hiss of tires on wet asphalt as midnight pulls the curtain tight. They sing through broken things~ the ache of a bent nail left in wood, the sigh of a screen door swinging loose on one hinge. No halos, no trumpets~ just the unbearable tenderness of rain finding the cracks in everything we tried to seal.
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