Only the naked may enter Your Sea.
These tattered clothes, soiled
from my grandparent’s grave,
a mother’s tears, father’s sweat,
from my rough-housing brothers, lover’s
bodily fluids, the birth blood of my sons –
how shall I drop them at Your shore?
They’ve grown into my skin.
They’ll have to be cut from my body.
Allow me to suffer these stained rags
hugged close to my chest,
not to hide my nakedness,
but to mark its wondrous beginnings
as I enter the singular majesty
of Your ancient, depthless Sea.
O child of God, imperfect love is Love Divine –
not to be surrendered but transfigured.
(from A Jewel in the Dust)