Sea Chant Going Under Near The Rose Streaked Piers

when I wash up on your shores ah Lord

may I not be mistaken for mere  sea glass

in birthday parties' pink and blue;
snatched by pirating angels.

o just a tangle of starfish,
perhaps they'll coo, while others kick the driftwood

drifting senselessly now on land
ah! with no crackjack prize in hand.

oh, may You recognize

when I cry out again for saltless water:

no lilac shell! where false words echoing echoed

calendar long by those mistaking sand

dollars for your Stars.

wherever you are I Am, you said:

may I Believe into whatever agony of a language they

translate me to:

this is your heart though I drown in the world

so many times I can no longer be taught to breathe
by anyone licensed. 

yet, I live- each time I sink,
 no matter how far under:

to seek, to find your clear, clear green

they cannot plunder.

mary angela douglas 5 january 2015;6 january 2015
Feast of the Epiphany