Gospel of cherub

She wakes where blue never ends.
They tell her she is finished.
They tell her she is safe.
They tell her love has already been counted.
Eyes follow her like stars nailed in place.
Songs move like doors.
Rules breathe like walls.
She walks through music that behaves like land,
through disorder that pretends to be law,
through heavens stacked like mirrors.
Somewhere beneath all of it
is a god who chose a human pulse
over a perfect machine.
He is kept where nothing touches him.
Where feeling is considered a flaw.
Where freedom is a rumor