Lord of the storm, spare Kingston’s unkempt port,
spare Spanish Town and even Montego Bay.
Open your eye only on empty sea.
Let vessels reach their quays unscathed, and lashings
never snap. Let shantytowns stay roofed,
and coconuts not cannonball through walls.
Almighty, if it pleases you to rip
the tamarinds with sheets of windblown tin
and whip the alleyways with sparking wires,
if afterward a plague of flies and boils
afflicts the islanders, vouchsafe them faith
that they may bury their dead, build anew,
watch for cyclones, yet believe in You.