“Lord, give a little.” ~ D. Bonta
2
The fisherman pointed
toward the channel
where the water surged
blind as they slept
beneath roofs
flimsy with fronds—
And then he walked
the length of shore
pointing out cornerstones
of torn foundations,
beds, mirrors,
vanities, suitcases
swiveled toward
the ocean’s inky mouth.
In response to Via Negativa: Winter prayer.