I came to You carrying a bowl:
white clay set with tourmaline
and green beryl like the sea
precious  
                   simple
                                 sacred.

A silvery glaze you poured
over cracks in the clay--
mistakes I have made
perfecting
                    illuminating
                ­                             scars.

Swirling in this vessel,
as I stumble toward your hall,
is a liquid dark, seething:
fire and ink
filth and steaming sludge
and something
                                                       ­           slithers
                                           ­                                     just below the surface

living pollution eking out its existence in a putrid potion.


I can hardly lift it anymore.
with weakening arms I collapse,
but strive to hold the basin yet
my hands crushed beneath its weight.

With a shattered voice I call to You
You
who crafted the bowl:
                                                                     Mercy! mercy...

Desperate for rescue
before the evil lurking within
drags itself out to consume.


                                                      ­                                            *What You made
                                                            ­                                                 I poisoned,
                                                       ­                            And what in life You gave
                                                            ­                                    I filled with death.
                                                          ­                                       Empty the vessel
                                                                ­                        and unmake the beast.
                                                          ­                                     Renew and restore,
                                                        ­                                              Maker of All.