Salt grain
Today the ocean is rough; yesterday it was serene.
I no longer hope it to be one way or the other.
My shouting above its roar, flailing about in the
surf,
my quiet prayers ashore, leave no lasting
impression.
There is a way of sorts – a footpath through the
dunes
that widens upon a rock-solid perch with a
panoramic view
where I might sit dispassionately; partake of the
salt air,
the siren music, become drenched in its erratic
spray –
at a distance – breathing room –
until that distance dissolves
in the salt grain of an ocean drop
joining without boundaries or objections
its mighty eternal, infinite
storm and calm, ebb and flow.
O child of God, the Ocean calls you.
Work to get more than your feet wet.
No comments:
Post a Comment