On the apostasy

Spun off from an eddy of faith,
My bark, like a bottle enclosing an ancient note,
Wallows awhile in the backwater shallows,
Righting itself for what's next. 

Years and books come aboard.

Then, in the becalming the becoming:
An oarsman of reason evolves
Pulling stroke after logical stroke
Fearless toward the Bright-troubled sea.