Assail God’s hearing with gull-screech knifeblades.

Cozen the saints to plead our cause, claiming
grace abounding.

God crucified on the resolve not to displume
our unused wings

hears: nailed palms
cannot beat off the flames of insistent sound,

strident or plaintive,
nor reach to annul freedom—

nor would God renege.

Our shoulders ache. The abyss
gapes at us.

When shall we dare to fly?