Oh the point and twist, of all those visible signs, whispering loves, and shouting hopes. Cascading down the spine, through the crevices that were dry, running wild, making the pathways drip again. No square inch of us is safe, and this is not a curse. We would not dare submit to an invincible heart, and pay the wages of a steel complexion. Death does not mind hurt because it cannot feel. The calloused scales do not feel the twist and point, nor do they know dripping crevices. Yet, death can only hold itself. Callous upon callous, you cannot feel the warmth. You are safe from pain, but you rest in your own hands. The warm breath and color are for those of us who know to be relational is to be close to the Father’s heart. The three in one is warmth. The three in one is color. That is enough: to be known and close to Him who drew us from dirt.