by Joe Bisicchia

At You, we might throw stones, our eyes, our very selves 
like seashells, like prayers, like prayers.
Between the proud waves, our intervals of silence, 
that too You hear. 

We breathe Your spirit, and You run through our being.
Tides dependable, eternal and powerful, You are.
No doubt, my Lord, and merciful You are.

You reach and You pull.

You speak, sometimes silently as peace,
sometimes seriously as paternally You reach,  
and You pull, You pull, and love us each.

You know Your depth is beyond comprehension.
And we cackle as we joyously frolic as we tug at horizon, 
and You lift, and tug, and glisten Your eyes upon us.

As You breathe, life teems.
Rush seems unending, like rescue, reaching, reaching.
Such is Your reach.

Ancient, yet with each wave anew, face-to-Face, we are.
This mirror to the sky, eternal to our eye,
simple yet incomprehensible, like the sands on this shore, 
moldable by a child’s hands where here by Your will,
         sea rolls o’er,
               rolls o’er,
                    rolls.
                          It rolls with endless roar.

O Maker of the Sea, a Divinity we shallow difficult to see,
but in this breeze by grace, even here too, we somehow touch
                                                          Your face.

Joe Bisicchia writes of our shared dynamic. An Honorable Mention recipient for the Fernando Rielo XXXII World Prize for Mystical Poetry, his works have appeared in numerous publications with over 175 individual poems published. The collection widewide.world to unwind has been published by Cyberwit. His website is www.widewide.world.

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