Heaven descend, wash over this ocean,

wink at the wretched, and leave us islands

unbreached by the banks and shoals of time,

with keeps of steep cliffs and uncharted shores

pocked by shiphulls and corpses on the rocks,

where sins may flourish unremembered,

where flesh is first and time is tender,

where fog wets the granite which streaks our hocks,

where wind blows, boughs break, and limbs pour,

    and the measure of measures is brine.

    Divine Heaven, perfect, eternal, grant us,

        in our short, broken lives, your origin,

for under surrender is devotion.

originally published in Thumbnail Magazine

podcast by InDigest