The ocean wave has carried us into your presence;
Our helplessness promises love’s renascence.
We can’t see you, but we feel your furious mood:
The grace and blast of great spirit has condensed.
Violent rain pounds the angry rolling horizon;
We are lost in our tossing boat without defense.
Our blood throbs with a rocking sea borne motion,
Our still brain has been beaten into common sense:
There is no god but God, and he is the lord of death:
We raise our hands in praise of the raw and immense.
Our aching eyes have been purified by your salt;
The courageous heart is washed clean of all pretense.
With each breath we die to the succession of the next;
Darvish cries like a bawling baby in consequence.
