And God was pulling me up, my self in standstill ruin around me; (like hail, like shattering glass, grace descends); and God was pulling and pulling; and I thought maybe I didn't want to live and God said you will and you won't; and I thought that seemed right, the precarity of it, insistent mundanity, the starry burden of love; there is, after all, no before to which I could return; no bridge over terror, save assent;