Life with Jesus

You sleep curled in the stern of the boat,
head resting on one arm in its rough sleeve.
Spume from the storm-ridden lake
lights on your beard like mulberry flowers
drifting in a spring breeze.
Droplets linger on your cheek like tears.
Here I am, battered by the wind,
jolted by thunder and blinded by lightning.
You sleep on, unconcerned,
while terror consumes me
and my storm-bruised body
flinches and aches.
You sleep on – till finally you wake
and say, “Peace.  Be still.”

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