O Whom I May Concern, deliver me
from desire: make me as an empty basket

and then unweave the basket. Teach me the sacred kind
of loneliness. For you are the Great Solitude–

even I your supplicant do not know you exist.
Divine Loner, Cosmic Wallflower: teach me to know

your silence as answer. Let me learn to suffer
with the dignity of purpose; if there can be no purpose

then make me a duck on the currents of
a swimming pool–content to splash and search

for minnows that have never been. Teach me the satisfaction
of stupidity. If it is your wish that I should live

then teach me terror: draw dragons
on the map of Eternity’s ocean; give them

many long and jagged teeth. Almighty
Watchmaker, I’m losing time: wind me,

bind me to your transcendental wrist
or unmake this fleshy nettle of gears–

but do not leave me here
ticking and chiming pointlessly

in the darkness of your Holy Junkdrawer,
amidst strange tools and surplus stars.