Thursday of the Fifth Week of Lent:

If God has any voice it is the wind.
It is death made loud:
nowhereness bellowing,
now reedy along the copper eaves,
now ballooned to a manifold softness by a tree,
now scraping like flint on the surface of water,
making arrowhead wrinkles,
seeking somewhere to stop and be.

I lie here listening.
God is crying, for-
giiiive
, demanding, fore-
go-ooo
, proclaiming, no-
wheerrre
, and begging,
let go-oo-ohhh.

— John Updike

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