There is this story hour to it at evening
Before we catch God at a twilight’s end

When all we have is a depreciated body
In its orange hues near the mountains.

Stories of people are not so interesting
In bodies depreciated in a straight line.

A stranger dying of melanoma to  God
Makes a brief temple before  meeting.

Depreciation is written down in  body
That makes  story hour last till sunset.

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