Let’s say God is the space between two lovers and the devil is the time it takes for them to travel the distance. Angels bring fleeting moments of self forgetting. Wily demons whisper in your ear, convince you for the millionth time that the whole world can only be understood from the perspective of your own particular self. Prayer is the GPS app that tells you when you can expect to arrive. There are no words to recite. You just follow the green lines with your eyes, three times. Your lips are moving because you’re shivering. Everything skinny lines and yellow or blue. A hex is the twelve car pile up on the I-480 bridge. One ritual is purifying while the other is pure alchemy. Instead of comforting you while you cry I’m wondering if your tears are molten gold. Meanwhile you’re not crying. You’re happy. You’ve forgotten all about me. You're chucking a cross from a precipice and it’s falling and it’s falling while you’re smiling and patiently waiting for the splash. You have all the time in the world. You can stay all night. I’m the hobo under the bridge cursing god.