My troubled mind brings no sorrow;

Instead, insight to the stones below

This dirt I’ve tread for many winters—

Stones which tell the story old.


My father sailed the gulf upholding

The pan with which my hand may beg.

He has found much calmer waters

While I must brave these stormy seas.


Lord, I will wander

Until I find my shores at last

And if those sands burn like the Sun,

Surely you will bring me shade.


For I am Jonah cast upon this beach

From my own doubts and disbelief.

And now I sing through these city streets,

“Open wide your eyes and see.”