I live poorly. Love, may my Lord empty me.
Give me the release to embrace you. I am full
with stories, estimations, and opinions. Dull,
I sting with boredom. A self-important bee,
buzzing around fear, proving my loneliness.
The stinger falls out of my eyes revealing
your working servant hands scrubbing the mess
in stainless steel kitchen sink. Believing
faith stirs to the circular movements of your
joy. I pray for a poverty of heart to teach
me how to rivet to you beyond qualms, and breach
the fortification into a consoling water. The door
flings open, flooding my life with the passion
of a man upon cross creating love’s refashion.