The Empty Bowl
waiting to be filled.
it's only true contents
the cool air
that spans the distance between its curved walls.
the light and shadow
that are broken from its shape.
The empty bowl implies
the possibility of being filled.
the hope and belief of being filled.
nevertheless, it is empty now.
It fits perfectly in the palms of my hands
as if it were made just for me,
just for this day,
It is cool to the touch
and light as a feather
it could break should I hold it too carelessly
or hold it with too much force.
I must hold it with relaxed, yet purposeful hands.
And pay attention.
Maybe it will be filled with manna
maybe a piece of bread
It may take time.
I pray not.
I am alone.
I am needy.
my arms tire as if it were heavy
as if it were made of stone.
My eyes fading.
Yet I am here
with my empty bowl,
and a teaspoon full of faith
in something larger than myself.