On our own, the miracle of belief misses the bullseye.
Our arrogant eyes, religiously taking aim
at flesh, with log or spec setting
off truth’s perfect course to the heart.
And nature reveals the gravity of our sin—friction
setting law against law,
pulling faith to the ground.
Words fail to hit their aim; faulty
and misshapen by the stiff spine of intent,
but, flexing improves our accuracy.
And three fletching feathers (love, faith, and hope)
gives the necessary rotation
So that life doesn’t plane out of control.
And the word hits its mark every time.