O Thou, cut down in me this hour and every
hour the swift growing tree of self-regard
which screens me from the needs of others.
Fill me with the realization that for these
few swift years I am put here on earth,
I am lent to be spent in the service of others.
Love with the hands open, love
With the doors banging on their hinges
The cupboard unlocked, the wind
Roaring and whimpering in the rooms
Rustling the sheets and snapping the blinds
That thwack like rubber bands
In an open palm.