‘Come’

Matthew 14:29

‘Come’
Matthew 14:29

I’m one of whom the world 
is all too worthy.

If fortune favors the brave,
good comes sparingly my way.

I burn white hot or ice the path,
live whole-hearted or fragmented, 
mostly made of lust and mouth.
For Peter and me on the sinking sea, 
the native tongue of grace is thunder.

He and I? 

We don’t even hear whispers. 

Did his baptism, like mine, burn? 

A surge of cold fire, rolling 
him under pounding waves, 
did he too surface, choking, 
on his new name?