I’m a poet whose imagination’s died,
a galaxy whose sun’s ceased to shine.
Pray for me, for I am lost.
The builder didn’t count the cost.

Laid in a tomb behind a stone,
swallowed by a fish in the deep unknown,
I’m waiting for my day to come
when you make me speak
like you healed the dumb.

Call my name and there I’ll come.
Loose me and I’ll freely run.
I’m just waiting for your hand
to pull me on the sea again.

There I’ll see you in the light,
the water’s calmed and the moon is bright.
Little, yes, my faith may be,
but I’ll try again, just wait and see.