You have done many miracles, Lord

Impossible
is the roof on what we think can be done
but we are told
God doesn't fit in the house
He is the atmosphere.
When the quicksand is sucking
or the clay is hardening in on my ribcage
the rope around me, pulling me up
is from You
it happens every time.
And when I see,
it steals my breath away.
I want to run and say in wonder,
with outstretched hand like a little child,
"Can You be my Papa?"
but You already are

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