your hands are 

s

      h

a

                       k

          i

  n

        g

tonight and my skin is aflame with icicle pricks of rage.

another fight with your father, the man i won't meet because....

because...

he still won't meet me?  i ask. your hands are still sh

                                                                                                     ak

                                                                                                             ing

but your voice is steady as you explain. 

"no. 

because he's part of this thing...-

cultlike religion...-

 so you're..-

...not christian-

-said enough ....

 to be disowned...-

-...not someone to save-

-...up to me."

(your hands shook, brittle leaves and battering wind)