I have His darkness—I have His pain—I have the terrible longing for God. (Mother Teresa)

That at times this future saint
could not sense her Lord while sweating

words with pen read as a revelation
to me, disclosed that she was human, too.

God’s omnipresence still too far—boils, sores,
and scars too near, so faith meant treading

the waters of theology’s raw mystery,
their paradox: belief is doubt

that we can know with certainty.
And so I cup the ocean with my hands,

though fingers leak, dry, then crack.
Yet for a moment, I can clutch the ocean

with my makeshift bowl, taste
the salt my everyday eyes cannot see.