God
grant me the honesty
to live this lie,
this failure which finds form
in the written word,
and the humility
never to mistake my limits
for what is
perceived through them,
this shining point:
neither begetting nor begot,
before the birth
of a white amaryllis tinged pink
in a show of pure devotion,
its dance a constant death
until separation stops
in objectless love,
emptied in Your fullness.