Salt and stones
I keep asking God for a sign,
To remember me as God remembered my ancestors.
I am suddenly unmoored,
disconcerted and discontent
from a brief and unsettling brush with the deeply sacred.
I fell into Sunday –a stone dropped into the ocean,
spent Monday and Tuesday wandering through the in-betweens
(Wednesday and Thursday got lost in subway tunnels).
I’m asking for a miracle, I suppose,
like the manna that materialized suddenly
in the nothingness above
and fell into their waiting hands,
I’m praying feverishly for love
to rain down upon my desolate soul.
And then I stop and ask myself really –
if God were to make water fountain from stones in song,
would I be grateful
or would my mouth continue to taste salt from the sea?