Who would imagine that my life would come down to the edge of a blade
worked and worked on stone, scraping off goo and removing the bites?
Or that when I tumbled and rolled in the surf, unsure what was up.
storm rolling hard against breakers that I would remain intact?
It’s breath holding time, while rain smashes down, winds howl and the stir
rocks you until you forget your name and then finally silence, the deep breath
sauna time arising with sun, I scramble for cover, glad my Teva sandals
prevent the shells slicing at my skin, I must duck down into forest
looking to quench thirst, handy filter bottle in hand to conquer
all the parasites and villains unseen about to attack what is left.
Forgive me then, Father, for I have fallen to worship my survival blade,
prying out oysters, scraping out crabs, peeling the papaya
for I drink well of thy wine, fruit of my body, rendered and purified
and wander as I will through this vast new place I’ve come
lost to find self, and prayer for the fragile web of blessings
that save me from skewered, smashed, expiring, but shaded by your love.