I am tethered to you, Holy One.
I take the rope and pull it taut,
drawn by the allure of your presence,
as cautiously, hand by hand,
I tug myself shoreward.
It is not you I pull toward me.
It is I, who drift away, who returns.
Slowly then, I drag myself to you.
Almost there…now, we touch.
Quickly, before tide sweeps me back,
I leap from my deck to your moorings.
It is an odd sensation,
this cessation of sway,
this certain, solid ground,
after rocking so long upon the waves.
Closing my eyes, I feel your breath,
as gentle and familiar,
as the wind upon the sea.
Under Christ’s Mercy,
Brent