Today, though I asked You to fill me
so I could pour you out to others,
You became glue, compound, to stop up the holes in me,
so You could pour in and keep me full.
“It’s not from your continued emptiness
that I flow,” You said.
“but from your top, your fulness that I spill
There is no glory in you leaking,
your holes running you dry,
but only in my fulness making you whole.
Then I fill you brimful and your cup runs over.
There is beauty and life,” You said, with your
unexpected, compassionate smile.