I found no harbor when I opened the door

Landlocked and without a wind to gather in my sail

I followed after idols, after deceit I would whore

Temptation brought me inward; I let sin prevail

 

No matter how far removed from the water

I long and desire to be upon its wave

I call out in brokenness for the hands of a potter

Looking over rocks and dirt for the river to save

 

Perhaps upon a raft of sticks and rope

I could float away into the long distant open sea

I am parched upon the hillside with only this hope

That a river would flow to His water’s tributary

 

Alone I sit and wonder how the wind will feel

I rip my shirt in strands for makeshift twine

I repeat the promise that the waters will heal

And I carve limbs to make this little vessel of mine

 

I lift my first foot to head down from the dry mound

And my eyes become burdened by what I see

A boat and an oar and a sail lay on the ground

There stands the cross-shaped mast painted red for me

 

I put the pieces together though the mast held weight

And I heaved with the oar away from the coast

The sail filled before I could paddle with any rate

I’m moved without any strength that I could boast

 

As I crept the waters and the mast pushed onward

My eyes beheld the horizon of the ocean

My mouth shut up and my knees fell on deck board

No longer can I speak of such emotion

 

As I entered in deep waters of the sea I desire

I longed to feel its chill; that my boat would keel

The mast burst into flame though not harmed by its fire

“You are mine,” a voice called out to me surreal