My love has held nothing in place –
and has itself, some of it, gone
to where love and time decompose
in a field of stars and glass.
How wonderfully wearies the Lord
the ego, filing countersuit
against our vanity, depleting
with blemishes and disappointment
our reserve of can-do and
will-do – Oh I’ll get this
and I’ll get her, I will and
I will – taking His time
(He’s got all the time in the world)
while we chase our crooked schemes
of self-help and maintenance.
He reminds us we’ve better things to do,
but we don’t hear because our eyes
are fixed on our face
going up in wrinkles.