from Psalms for a Western Orthodoxy

Drink, drink deep from the well inside of me 
   and look, look at all I think I can be.

I am a barren field, a parched stream,
   and I am lush forest and bubbling brook,
   a maladaptive tragicomic action figure
   whose face is set in perpetual grit, and
   posed in strange ways by the child

                       — who owns me? —

            It isn’t me. It isn’t me. Selah

Eat! Eat with gnashing bites the marrow of my perdition,
    my sinewed integrity,
    from the side I sacrificed that I might become 
   whole at last, as I whole as I first thought
   until I learned my lack. Selah 

There’s more to me than eyes can meet,
   more than what they try to sell;
   more than all this withered pride
   and my departed side.

Drink, drink from the well inside of me
   and taste for what never can be, 
   though matured in tears and tenderizing fears,
   appreciate what’s there.