Rust away in your ample largesse, and see
the Spanish Mystics, the Desert Fathers,
the Prophets, the Abbas.
Those folks who slough everything to chase God
out into the desert and there,
sand-caked and worn,
limber and lithe, all tendon and muscle,
with rough and ragged beards,
kneel into the sand and pray to that God who led them there,
and still thank him for it all, and then,
in filthy, torn, brown robes (once white but now
so afflicted by sand as to lose that brilliant shine),
stumble into Jerusalem and say that
Yahweh is the LORD forever.