Gravity strings tension across space
from the moon to the sine wave gullies
of the sea that gasps in and out tidally,
in rhythm, dialectic to the tidal pull.

Could a sinner fashion the art
that God works on earth? Could we
take a wooden ark and make it hold
the world? All perished in the flood,

yet you remain. Do not begin to think
that for your cleverness the waters
did not overwhelm you, tender being,
held - captured utterly in God’s call.