When you look at the body,
        you can see his work.

And when you investigate your own work,
                you should see his work.

And if you can see nothing else,
                        in the kindness, see worth.

And when you see the next failure,
                                 see him quietly at work.

Because we have no room for ego next to him.
                                         And nothing is small enough to stand beside.

I search for the true reflection.
Is it in the mirror or the camera?
Is it in a lover’s eyes or an enemy’s?

I don’t profess to stand on a pedestal,
but I stand on something,
and it seems it’s always something

that knocks me off.
And we may say, I know, I know,
for I have also been there.

I know who she is. I know, I know.
I know the problems she’s facing,
as if we are all wise men.

But it’s becoming clear
that you can only ever walk
in your own shoes.

I met a man in church today, with hair so grey and eyes so old,
I thought to myself "If heaven had secrets, surely this man would know."
We talked for a while, and he spouted wisdom like a stream,
and I pondered what his cryptic advice might mean,
and we left together, out the gilded double doors of the church.

It was cold that day, but the birds still sang, and he remarked that it was so.
He mumbled to himself what would seem ordinary if I did not know
to look for more within his words, and ponder what I had the fortune to hear.
I thought long and hard, until I saw a sight that made it at once so clear.

I met a holy man in church today, and when we left Heaven for the earth below,
the genius opened the wide and gilded double doors, and ****** into the snow.