By Roy Dean Doughty
Written 3/12/08

The life has been given over, and the poverty
Of spirit instilled through that surrender
Is blinding. This is a blindness where words
Alone, the emptiest, the fullest of vessels,
Are eyes, and because they can take in
At a single glance both skies and dreams,
Often the destitute blind one must rise at night,
And read from the darkness of clouds
The stars behind them. He will be hungry.
That is worth repeating. And he will remember
His exile with bitterness. He will think, without believing,
“It is good that only shadows haunt the vision.
The body cannot endure too much of beauty.”
And then he will quietly turn to his dark Goddess,
As water returns to the deepest, the hollowest places.
His surrender will be complete, his poverty perfect,
And her words will flood his body with luminous riches.

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