Write the final sketch

Muteness.

Faith approaches tentatively barefoot.

It brings with it

the fragrance of hot bread,

the metallic tang of old nails,

and the hidden dread lurking in the corners.

I tremble at its presence,

like a flame flickers in the wind,

and then Faith retreats.

I vacillate.

I petition to God.

I perspire.

The heart is large and heavy like a lead pencil.

The heart leaves marks on plain, unprinted pages...

Yet it continues to beat.

Sketch: a bare toe on cold tile, a candle flame dancing, beads of sweat, and sunlight coming through a window.

Lust.

Faith is way back at the window —

gazing at the shadowy street —

which disappears into the brightening dawn.

Faith's hands carry the scent of soap,

long-forgotten pages crammed with memories, and dust-covered letters.

Faith looks silently —

like a dog waiting for an owner

who may never return.

I am afraid of this silence,

but I nevertheless cling to it.

And this silence clings to me.

Sketch: a figure in the sunshine, hands on piles of dusty pages, a dog lurking nearby, and the street illuminated by the earliest rays of sunlight.

Gravitational Pull.

Faith kneels in humility in private —

The floor supports Faith's every breath, and all of Faith's whispers are filled with fear.

I clench my jaw,

as if I am a stone that retains moisture,

and I provide life to the echoes of memory…