Those unable to grieve,
or to speak of their love,
or to be grateful, those
who can’t remember God
as the source of everything,
might be described as a vacant wind,
or a cold anvil, or a group
of frightened old people.
Say the Name. Moisten your tongue
with praise, and be the spring ground,
waking. Let your mouth be given
its gold-yellow stamen like the wild rose’s.
As you fill with wisdom,
and your heart with love,
there’s no more thirst.
There’s only unselfed patience
waiting on the doorsill, a silence
which doesn’t listen to advice
from people passing in the street.