These cords that God makes, Reverend Bauxite thought, we stand holding one end while they run taut into the darkness.
There are no words for so much loss, not right after it happens.
Do you see? The story I have to tell is so small, of the people who stayed when everyone else fled.
His voice, what he said, remains, and it is here, all of those voices are here, in what I am telling you. If in the beginning there was the word, then perhaps, with humility at the smallness of our powers, in words a small part of us can return.
There must be something better than this world, and the world must be better than this.
