SUNDAY by Primus St. John

Today,
The sea has its own religion,
It is as blue
As an acori bead
I rubbed in my hand.

I think
Of swimming out
for miles
and miles in prayer.

I think
Of never struggling back
In doubt.

As though
In a world like this
Love starts over and over again...

Reprinted from Dreamer (Pittsburgh Carnegie Mellon Press) 1990.