Humility

There is the immense and empty expanse,
Like the eyes of a coma, irises flecked
With cooling stars in the infinite ink.
And there is you: still more immense, alive,

A boiling question, accusation,
Eclipsing the bubble we for a long time
Call mind. Death swells with you, throbbing our hearts
With meaning, and fear of what was before

The womb. For you were before memory,
And you are after it; the universe
Is only a drop of sweat from your brow.
All of time is only a day of rest.

There is the immense and wrinkled brain,
With ruts worn by the constant traffic of thoughts
Unable to rest, even in the night.
And there is you: still more immense, alive,

A wishing well, where we give our prayers
To a great deep. There they fall to the bottom,
To the end of Being, and eternal sleep;
Until you marshal them as vast armies

Against the hearts of men. Yet even those
You must skim off the stillness of a pure soul,
And even that finds purity when you,
In love, brood over the darkened waters.

There is an immense and perfect you:
And so all the machinations of my mouth
Fade to motions where they try to hold you--
And they are cheaper idols than my gold.


Do not be like the poets, who think that because of their many words, they will be heard.