I walked to a priest mid-prayer
Letting the water drown to my waist
His hands stretched out, his palms holding water
A fish, flickering in it, hoping to be free
He smiled at me and poured it out
Into my palms, and smiled
He asked if I was the fish, the palm, or the water
I said I wasn't, and he asked again
He called me the little fish
I objected, he hushed me with benevolence
I asked him why so, why would I be it
He said you stand struggling waist-deep here
Only in the palm of the world
With just the right amount of water and air
Yet you wish to struggle, how unfair
If this was his arrogance or ignorance
I would have scowled, yet I had come to him
To find my way
As he held my palms and helped dip my head
The fish darted off as my hurt did
Post two more I looked at him
His beard dripped water, and his eyes were still
Reading mine, he blessed me this time
He spoke no more, yet I heard him better now
When I turned and walked out toward the bank
I was aware, I was just like the sand
That mixes with water, flows, stays, and becomes rocks
Only to be ground to sand again
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