"Exquisitely etched, in a luring cadence, a daughter lost, a family fractured, fractioned, all in the lower case, not shouting at us, but hard to read. I had to stop and regain my composure. What is this terrible beauty? Not a theology but something softer, more delicate, unprotected, exposed. What is this? A moving poem, certainly, but also a prayer, a wounded word, a broken hallelujah, where a random hug, a hand held through the night, a shoulder touched, are the only amelioration, the only God worthy of our time, the only God there may be, the only way to keep the future open." John Caputo