Straining for courage

In the dry-dying of bones on vacation,
I search for oil to revive my vocation,
to course with blood the frozen-flesh of my carriage.

I go to the ocean like a youth for baptism,
trembling at the drowning about to ensue,
turning to flee less the Spirit enfold me.

Where ought I flee to escape my recapture?
Should I return to the fort of the fled,
return to the arms of my captors now fleeing?

I am  three cowards walking my dog on the boardwalk:
no face, no soul, no swagger of enlivement,
just here hiding behind the colors of flare.

The Sea stares at my naked interior,
invites me to dive to the dark of His heart
to swim in the Night in order to live.

My steps are faith in acts begging mercy,
as I dance tween the waves at the edge of the deep,
straining for courage to dive therein.