From these poems one might guess
I’m getting a bit desperate
but my Beloved skirts and shields me
from desperation while allowing
(apparently) my compulsions to momentously
flower and die; desires to wither by His grace
into a vapid, gray, tin ear sort of indetermination,
empty to me now as a tongueless bell.
My interest no longer vested, turning
my holdings over to loved ones
to make their way through the maze
each according to their own karma.
Just bank-sitting now, paralyzed by indifference
except toward the One who quickens my pulse,
sharpens my ears, whets my thirst. The one
in all the world who rings true. Rings true.
O child of God, the path of renunciation, through His grace,
has been rendered smoother than you could ever have
imagined.
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