At the lighthouse, in May, forty-two days since he fell under

To pray I find a shell, put it to my ear & open elsewhere

                   in sound. The feral water-body foams, lip of God.

                   Wet & unfurling. Praise me

anyway, He says. It is somehow louder here than if I were right in front of Him.

[singing bowl]

Darling I love you / as the present moment