Low Tide

God simply comes over a man,
a tsunami’s suck
leaving rocks and crevices bare.

Left behind is the crush of terror.
Belief bogs down
in the mud
left by God's departing.

I am naked and sick and weak.
All I do is vomit.
Like the constant gossip of gulls,
pain and guilt surround.

So what does it take to be saved?
I am told it’s grace:
a gift
that can make one alive;

but to me it sounds
like intentionally choosing to drown,
just to be revived:
a very peculiar investment

and a rather strange suicide.