Two Poems by Luci Shaw

Beachcomber

satin black, three stones
lie warm in my palm - a handful
of shore in my room

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Omnipotence

He asks of us a big
faith - the moving
of mountains. It fits -
he was the one who
made a Big Bang,
spins a galaxy like
a child's top,
cradles our world
- a marble in his palm.
But can he pop
a jammed hood? Or deflate
an aneurism? Is he
deft enough to splint
a broken finger, split
an apple between us,
or flick a loose lash
from my eye?

He's big alright - his face
could brood
from Mount Rushmore.
But I ache for
a God my size to bring me
hot chocolate, brush
my hair, slip
between my sheets,
read to me in bed.
For a lover like that
I'd move a mountain
one stone at a time.