Saturday, May 17, 2014

here on the sand

God, you identified with
the baby’s first gasping wail
the toddler’s teething drool
and the child’s reckless leap.
At your bar mitzvah you danced;
in your work you measured, sawed,
leveled, fastened and honed.
Rub your spit on my eyelids.
Then, build a fire, broil some fish
and tear some flatbread with us.

Forgo walking on water right now;
just laugh with me here on the sand.

Here on the Sand
a poem by Troy Cady

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