No mystical sixth sense do I possess.
I hardly handle normal senses well.
No vision have I ever had of Hell.
Jesus does not drop in at my address.
My life has been one life — no more, no less,
none from the past I could revive to tell.
I have no voodoo, could not cast a spell
to save said life, in time of great distress.
And yet with you, one moment may restore
my ordinary sense, then supplement
an extra, like an amulet, when cursed.
I feel your absence at the bedroom door,
your presence a celestial event,
this common bond between us, not our first.
— From the August 19, 2013, issue of National Review.