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.