Tide Fool

What I read,

hand shading the gold glint

of the ocean,

is my little pocket book

of lies

and aberration.

My wife trusts God

to know me

better than I know myself.

The small cold rock of

a song I sang Sunday

turns in my hand.

If my brother whispered

something similar I'd throw it

a mile deep, past dolphins, dinghies,

and the wrong side of dawn.

The bench I watch the west from

is a pew to the wide sky and white caps.

What I negotiate here, what I navigate,

what I need is a way to walk on land,

as well as He traversed the waves.