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Michael McGuire
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Rebecca and the Three Miracles
I was tossed and reckoned upon the brutal breast of the sea,
There was no land; no hope; nothing but the nothingness of me,
Without a star for my steering I wallowed in the ocean's empty arms,
Student and victim of the night and all its morbid charms,
Until the stench of death was the perfumed afterlife I could taste and savor,
The wreck of Poseidon; I cursed him and sought no gods favor,
Surrendered to my weakness and willingness to be lost at sea forevermore,
But suddenly she was there with her golden hair; she lit this ship to shore.
I become locked and tortured by devices of my own design,
A prisoner starving by my own bread this warden of mine,
I became despised of my own untuned music of thought,
In a rage of futures I yanked the ankles of the angels and I fought,
Mercy's deliberate-stranger I nursed on my misery's wine,
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Till I was as barren and wasted as the bride of time,
I was sick with a hunger but I could take no food to stomach that wasn't hated,
Till she fed me of the bread of her caring and I was sated.
With a bare sky that allowed more heat than this desert could endure,
I wandered for memory's ages finding no animal-cure,
A mortal caught in the indifferent rush of the god's fitful plans,
No spit left for cursing only handfuls of these hot desert sands,
Although only dying of thirst I felt already as dead as the host,
This desert fallen in my path like some infinite ghost,
Then she altered the very heavens in a cloud of rain from above,
And she said water; I bring you water my love.
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