Which way is up, which way is down
Lost somewhere in the middle
of this growing cycle
The Son draws me up, to see
an opaque image of Him
through the morning haze
I exist in the mist of His grace
He enlightens every particle
of light that is
dispersed through the air
Gasping for breath I grasp and
find it cannot be contained
It is enough that I am
created and that drops of
dew formed by His condensation
fall on me