The Sailor's Lament
Above my sail the sky is rent and ripped by running cloud.
The surface of my ocean torn to froth,
My eggshell craft besieged by wrack and ruin.
Icy rivulets against my skin
Constrict my heart with dread.
The wheel, like a dog that spies a fleeing squirrel,
Wrenches from my nerveless fingers, spinning free.
All is lost. I weep.
Then through driving, slashing sheets of rain
I see the hand of God reach out
Sound of thunder,
Smell of lightning,
Touch of final doom.
The grasp of mighty fingers
Seizes at my oilskinned throat,
Tears me from my seat, my shrieks in vain.
Up, up through the thunderous storm I fly,
Pulled by terrible majestic forces,
Implacable, unyielding, unresisting.
Webs of lightning flicker in the dark and gloom,
Flash me with their golden light.
Until at once above the clouds I soar,
In an embrace suddenly less fearsome now.
Divine hands cup my mortal soul,
The thunder from below recedes
To a rumble full of cosmic glee;
Lightning swells to radiant glow,
And in my ear your voice invites me, See!
I look, and see:
The solid storm-top clouds so far below;
Above, cerulean infinity hints of home;
And gazing on the shining sun I see your smile.
Suspended here between the sea and sky,
Between the stormy and serene,
Between the mortal and divine,
One foot on Earth, one hand in Heaven,
Saved by Love,
At last.