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.