God is gender-all/less and I am too. I want to see myself in ways I cannot imagine. The end of winter has a tendency to take our weakest. Now what do we do in the face of a god’s death? Every year I still feel newly born. The silver thread stretches upwards indefinitely through space. We hold each other close and console each other about the inevitability of death’s arrival, our ascension. I wonder if you are still here with us. We hold each other close so we stay alive as long as possible because our bodies love to be alive, we love to be alive.