Some days God’s mercy looks like a candle in the darkness, the wick unevenly placed within the wax so that a wall of unburnt wax sits wedged between flame and ceramic, bought for too high a price to be so defective, and some days his mercy is staring at this candlelight to ignore the burning of your bones that you are so scared are turning older and older by the second, and some days His mercy shines through the darkness of your bedroom and illuminates your memories of only a few hours before, your lover driving with one hand and holding yours with the other, his eyes glossed over by the sunset and the road ahead trying to decipher the words to a Fleetwood Mac song, and sometimes Gods mercy is a weight on your chest that refuses to leave at night as you write the poem like an afterthought or a prayer that you just want to get something out of, and sometimes His mercy is just to witness and record and call it your own art.