Sunday, November 6, 2016

Empty bowl

Empty bowl
With begging bowl, I roamed the streets,
unaware of the jewel sewn into my garment.

During my last incarceration, You baked me a cake,
folding into the sweet batter a serrated file. 

You showed me how my bowl might be used
as a chalice ... or as a ghamela

carting away stones of the wall --  by Your grace --
continuously being dismantled between us,

scattering them in the barren fields
from which they came.

Later, You turned the bowl upside down
to wear on my head like a crown;

like Quixote tilting with the windmills.
How great is the jewel of Your compassion!

Each moment the river deposits
it’s thick effulgence at the door of my hovel.

I have only to step outside to stake my claim.
I have only to position my bowl under the spigot of God.

O child of God, beware of the illusion of poverty.
Nothing is worth more ... or less ... than your empty bowl.

(from Spoken For)

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