Ash Wednesday on Surfers Point

here at the point
where the waves explode
against the rocks
and the fishermen
come to cast out upon
the water
i stand
my face into
the wind

there was a fire here
charred driftwood lying
waiting to be
warmth to share
and cook the coming feast

faith is the spark
memories of another
distant shore
lost followers found again
by their teacher

i reach down to
what the flames touched
rub my finger against the ash
and draw a cross on my

when the ocean
washes the soot away
it feels like
a gracious savior’s

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