What if God, a friend asks,
never did one more good thing
for you? Salt waves crash
within my cage of bones;
a white foam rises.
I muscle into the zephyr
that floats ahead: a dew-dank
veil, Leah disguised as Rachel,
strands of damp hair glued
to my face in a faithless plea.
Inside the misted mirror,
I meet my own soul: a mermaid
soul, seeking bulbs of daylily
to cover hills of flesh, His
sea-green eye a force that bruises.
What if God, I reply,
buries starfish in tangles
of seagrass? The ocean pulses
the shore; its mineral spray
my pool of Bethesda.