We think about disagreeing a lot. You're a tree without leaves. You're a face without lips. Back forth, in a motion like the waves, where one evil is followed by another. If only we could split the argument with song. You take the soprano part, I grind out the bass. Then this would be noise that is truly holy. It'd make the churches give up their roles, tell the guardian angels that they will no longer be needed in this world. Would we become a temple for new gods? You and I the altar, where the animals are sacrificed, and the latest commandments are posted electronically, the changes to good and bad popping up faster than people can live them. A Samson would break us apart. He'd crush the computers. Give back the paper to followers who listened to us too closely, allowed us to choose the sole path they were walking on. Our ruins would attract the lonely. Those who didn't know what happened, who let imagination animate our bones.