The tide that has washed my life
these past few months
Recedes
Leaving the inlets of my world
Exposed.
No longer the submerged desires
of what I hope for
But rather the sharp outlines
of what truly is.
Why is it that this rhythmic flow
Certain as the moon
which grows and withers
just to find itself reborn
Leaves me feeling unmoored?
Am I not tethered
to the gravity of earth
Beckoned into motion
by the movement of the sky
Until
Washed and uncovered,
Cleansed and laid bare
I too find myself
clothed in resurrection life?
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