Jesus and I walked across the beach. Reaching the longboat lying beyond the flood, we turned it by the prow. Then he to one side and I to the other, we laid our muscled arms along the gunwales and hauled the boat into a foaming surf.

"I won't forget you," I told him.

"It's good to know you," he said.

I vaulted into the boat and pulled at the oars into surf that heaved the bow and stood me on my stern end. But I rowed and rowed and gained the depth. And even then I kept on rowing.

"Goodbye," I called.

"And with you," he hailed, radiant, standing up to his midriff in the churning sea. His arms outstretched, his perfect hands held open. As always.

Distance soon surrounded me. Blue above blue. Height. Depth. Expanse. The son ascended to his zenith. Me, I set my sail. And I am sailing, still.