Poverty is a state like no other; it has a way of drawing itself into focus when slack inches in the eye or heart. It isn't as simple as so I go without money, or so I go without food this morning. This state is so I go without comfort to adorn the senses, and with threads of peace and none to spare. The most humbling and humiliating conflict is uncertainty: Who's to blame? Who, too, might breach practicality and effort to refresh the field?
"Iesus saith vnto them, "Did ye neuer reade the Scriptures, the stone which the builders reiected, the same is become the head of the corner? This is the Lords doing, and it is marueilous in our eyes."" -The Gospel of S. Matthew, XLII-XXI
Leisure rests on the lap of work,
And all the Persian rugs and things you have
Have a story.
Dream with your lungs and heart next time you dream.
Dream with the places your polder and mother peat
Need you least--so that there with purpose you will be.
Dream, as later, awake,
You can accommodate the rhythmic homilies,
And strew your namesake on the belly of the world.