For Andrew

Astounded by the sound of the old man yawning—

terrible, terrible, terrible, like being force-fed ash

or is it humility?

Humility is the lifelong rash that plagues us,

consumes us until our heart stops.

The harder we scratch, the worse it gets.

It simultaneously strengthens us and destroys us.

How many layers does this ego have to shed

before I can call myself a humble servant of God?

How many roses must be plucked from my soul

before the lover is satisfied?

I am but a young man, a fool.

Aching for agency, I crush those who might guide me.

But like a bug, the old man is strong, and my foot,

feeble.

Easily, he collects himself, and moves on.

What can I do but follow?

My blow was so soft, and he        so wise,

he doesn’t even consider me an enemy.

Just a misguided would-be protégé.

The sun overhears the jealous moon muttering invectives about her,

but the sun doesn’t get angry.

Its job is to shed its light upon the world by day

and upon the moon at night, 

so that fools like me can see, and live.

What would it be like if the sun, out of anger for the moon’s jealousy,

were to stop shining its light upon the moon? 

How empty the sky would feel at night!

And how empty I, a lunatic through and through, 

would feel! 

Let the moon scoff. The sun will continue to forgive. 

It is not in the nature of the old man to hold grudges. 

His greatest pride is that 

he has so little pride at all. 

That is true wisdom. 

Fool that I am, I have often cursed the sun 

as I was awakened by its light 

in the afternoons when I wished I could go on sleeping. 

What would it mean if my curses wounded the pride of the sun?

  Would it refuse to shine from that point on? 

The whole world would die on account of my lethargy and bitterness. 

That is not the way of the sun 

and that is not the way of the old man. 

Both shine because so much relies on their shining. 

To reach old age would be a blessing. Like a star, 

the old man shines all the brighter 

because he is closer to death. 

Fool that I am, I will use him as a guide as I wander 

aimlessly 

through the night of my life, this terrible youth, 

this foolishness. 

And I will be sure to sing the old man’s praises 

as long as I have a song on my lips. 

Old man, thank you for the gift of your light, your patience

and your eternal forgiveness.