Not enough
Rolled in, torrential tide,
Broke against basalt jawline;
Ebbing and flowing;
Ever present. 
Not enough
Blew by, constant breeze;
Wielding blade of patient
Siege on anemone heart;
Armed with time.
Not enough
Wore woman, whirled shell;
Reduced to glittering shards.
Faithfully, she gathered herself,
Filling pockets full of sand.
Until the day she finally
Strode away from the shore. 
Scattered fragments by fistfuls, an offering;
Appeased exacting winds, hungry waves.
Slipping on yesterday's sun-bleached cutoffs 
Her startled fingertips graze
Granules of last summer's sand
Still lodged deep in the seams.

But He said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for power is perfected in weakness.”

2 Corinthians 12:9a

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