Lese-Majesty

Lord,
that I can see,
that I am able  
to receive Your glory,
the wonder of You,
is the miracle of life.

But Lord,
what would You have
me do,
if I had
to give
myself to You?

Fisher of men?
There is no other.
Baited to the hook of words
Your seed holds worlds
before my eyes.
I nibble

but still
refuse to bite:
fearing all
of that pellucid line, trawling
all of the fathoms
that assure me

of the obscure
freedoms that are mine.
And the bleached sunlight,
treading those familiar currents,
surfaces a soothing delirium
of play that glazes my sight.
 
Here,
there is an incessant
ebb and flow (continual highs
and lows)
that combs my mind,
manicures the endings of my nerves.

I fear the hands,
brutalized and bloodied,
that would coax me
to the land
that You are king of.
I fear the pain

of a broken heart,
courteous and noble,
that would gentle
my spirit to part
with its natatorium -
Lord,

could I ever possibly forswear
such rich,
waterless,
oxygenated air?