In
Peter’s dreams
the
cock still crowed.
He
returned to Galilee
to
throw nets into the sea
and
watch them sink
like
memories into darkness.
He
did not curse the sun
that
rolled down his back
or
the wind that drove
the
fish beyond his nets.
He
only waited for the morning
when
the shore mist would lift
and
from his boat he would see him.
Then
after a naked and impetuous swim
with
the sea running from his eyes
he
would find a cook with holes in his hands
stooped
over dawn coals
who
would give him the Kingdom of God
for
breakfast.
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