By Tala Jose Behold the world grows smaller and smaller and smaller Still, ‘til I can barely move I am dark from cupped hands I run down spilling lower than a beggar on his knees I kiss the ground anxious to ascend I pour the soul your hands have broken I am barely myself and you are barely you Still, fainter and fainter and fainter your Face grows. Oh, Beauty, all around me, Your kingdom come. Give me this day the…