It’s not being given a lifeline at last;
bobbing in the swell, latching onto hope,
grateful the well-meaning rescue ship passed,
half-dead, but floating when they threw the rope.
It’s a different scenario—more vast
more madly stupendous, worthy of awe.
It’s a cosmic miracle unsurpassed:
completely defying your grasp: love’s law.
You were dead on the seafloor, waterlogged.
Crabs had drawn near as you rolled in the weeds.
Your heart was long cold, every chamber clogged;
the scavengers tearing where darkness feeds.
The first metaphor can be misconstrued
when God hauls you up, alive and renewed.