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?