Why did you act like water and feel like hands
And I, born thirsty with never a progenitor to touch me
Why did I, the reluctant saint, concede nonetheless to True North’s tug
And you, the only lesser god ever worth worshipping
They often fail,
ask where to grasp.
Despite that they
in prayer do clasp.
He says, “Be still
-your pen won’t swerve
put it down now,
begin to serve.”