After Acts 27
The storm rages, my ship
strains and creaks, the sound
of wood cracking and splintering,
timbers snapping like small sticks,
the ship breaks apart even before
the soundings grow shallow,
the ship rudderless, the sails shredded,
the ship careens in waves seeking
to devour, swamping
with each monstrous swell.
Over the noise of the storm we hear
the crack and screech of the hull
touching bottom, touching rocks,
ripping apart on rocks as it vomits
us into the swirling tempest. Yet
the word spoke; we live.
Painting: Shipwreck, oil on canvas by J.M.W. Turner (1805); Tate Britain, London.