By Vera Kisfalvi (Montreal) from Fire Island, August, 1998
My tears are salty as the sea as I look out on Your ocean.
My words form into prayer, lost in the sound of the waves.
I cannot fathom the depth of Your creation.
Easy to feel, here, Your presence in the ebb and flow of each strong swell,
In the grey-blue waters that move and bend beyond earth’s gentle curve.
But teach me to know the depth of Your creation
In every stone and grain of sand washed to shore by surf.
Night falls to the rushing sound of waves cast up by the ocean.
Easy to see Your presence here, in each emerging star,
As it weaves itself into a blanket of spinning constellations,
A silent sea of light that flows and brightens high over the waters.
I will always stand in awe of stars and ocean.
But I long to know the depth of Your creation
In each blade of grass, each dry leaf that falls from the tree.
Teach me to know, Shekhinah, the depth of Your creation,
Every day, in every voice I hear and every face I see.