Rowing from the island with our booty in the hull,
you were struck by the mountain, by the shrieking of a gull.
Could there be cold powers who are jealous of the tree,
these little seeds of His in the boat of you and me?
But the tree carries blessings that the mountain understands,
and we lap along the waves in the ocean of His palms.
The gull is but a speck now; gentle the sea;
and wrapped in the twilight the boat of you and me.
What is this talk of a boat and a tree?
A vision, or a dream, or a bubble on the sea?
Our longing for each other is the sap for the tree,
and we carry seeds of His in the boat of you and me.
