The clock has stopped. The universe has flashed and cracked. The flood has swept the dam. Bright angels sift like gold dust from the gash, heralding invitations of the lamb: “Arise ye hobbling, tattered, orphaned, blind, Ye maimed in spirit, measured without merit, by men cast off as useless. Rise and find the crown, the throne, the birthright to inherit. —Douglas Kaine McKelvey9
