You lead me to the desert. As we go,
    You name the flowers we pass, gratuitous
    In their abundance and variety.
 
    But when the richness leaves us, you leave it,
    And stone, sand, thorn and the stigmatic flesh
    Become the matter of the universe.
 
    Here is the proper place for meditation.
    Where you confront the nothingness of things,
    What space for someone added unto you?
 
                                    *
 
    And as for me, neither holy nor whole,
    'My poetry is fragments, because I
    Am fragments', yet the thought so often ours
 
    Of being oned with God, your thought as mine,
    Was brokenly revealed to me in all
    The nothingness you brought upon my flesh.