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. Enough.
Slipping on yesterday's sun-bleached cutoffs Her startled fingertips graze Granules of last summer's sand Still lodged deep in the seams. Enough.
But He said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for power is perfected in weakness.”2 Corinthians 12:9a