Because of Him

Bethsaida

Bethsaida

The House of Fishers,

but the Sea lies distant,

fleeing.

All around I see Life –

a place where things grow

and flutter.

I set my head in my hands

and close my eyes, and

the Wind keeps me awake

when a whisper wings in through

the open window of my

unanswered prayer.

God giveth liberally –

in good measure, pressed down, and

running over –

a feast of fat things, of

wine on the lees

well refined.

So my net lies dormant

still

bounded

in a peaceful minefield.

And I’m reminded – and

given hope – that

she’ll build us a temple;

soon everything will be clear.