OF STORM & TIDE

Take me from the dust

Storm Father,

Tide Mother.

Disobedient child

I am,

Neither fish nor bird.

Can you comfort

your finless,

wingless Prodigal,

returned from the dismay of land,

pleading bright above,

to dark below.

Grace me your storms,

flaying weary skin,

discarding legs’ folly

to plummet,

watery,

to cloud.

A wave on lightning

back again

to thunder.