Hour of adoration
Empty-handed, slightly late, disheveled,
I kneel with nothing —
No beads to give a path to restless fingers,
no pages I can turn to give a feel of progress.
No — because I am tardy and disheveled —
self-image even that I care to fondle.
My mind is not empty, but crammed full,
like a dresser drawer full of old programs
and garments needing patches.
But as I kneel,
slowly, reluctantly,
the drawer comes unstuck and moves out.
I let you finger through the useless clutter.
If there is anything there you want, Love,
you may have it.
