I think I tried this
last year. Struggling
through the day:
amid laundry, dinner,
dishes piled high.
Bathtub, filling up, just enough
the rest upon the floor,
now, your eyes
taken out too early
off to bed too late.
“Take my hand, oh fisher of men.”
The waters as they
rise, course above my head
upended by the waves
capsized, baptized
looking for the light, found,
saved,
by the side of the road, in a
puddle, muddy, muddle, shallow,
reflecting me.