They said there would be more.
One by one, stepping-stones sink beneath
The rising tide, vanishing like myths
This Just In: Jesus is dead and gone.
Are we to stride upon the sea like insects?
I heard the roiling waves would one day cease,
That a windfall would descend from above;
But the water's wide open. No activity to report.
We tie our hair back & lean into the deep,
Eyes magnetized and throats prickling
From the brine of disappointments swallowed-
Looking down at the whooshing current
Between us and promised peace, wondering:
How can we bridge this earthly seam?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem