This empty cup
Enough for me, this empty cup.
With Your own hands
You have drained it of the world’s wine
and left a promise –
the distant scent and stain of Your own.
Each day I enfold my hands
around its rough clay and murmur a prayer,
lift to my lips its soured nothingness
to taste the exasperatingly faint
intimation of Your nothingness.
And setting it down, abandon again
the world’s shimmering images,
imaginings and intoxications,
its brief, bitter sweetness.
For me, enough (is enough) this empty cup,
until its clay mouth is crushed again,
its hollowness filled with debris,
buried in the earth’s whirling wheel
for yet another stab at Your ethereal lightness,
assured Oneness, Your sobering, holy wine.
O child of God, the world is mad with drink.
Rejoice in your disaffected indifference.
|(drawing by Rick Panico)|