The grain and the fish

Here I am, again, thrashing on Your threshing floor.
God, grind my garbage from the good grain.
Garner it for the gardens growing beautiful garlands
to wrap around Your feet, for I cannot wear them.

“Don’t eat me!” I scream and gulp as I wiggle out of
the surging stream that is not my life, love, nor desire.
I am a fish floundering in the tweed of the Fisherman.
Caught again, unaware what other’s need.