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