I go to a job I don’t deserve,
lie on a bed that is not mine,
feed on food nobody owes me,
and breathe air I don’t have to bleed for.
I relish the love of people who deeply love me
unaware of the depths of my unlovableness
and enjoy this world
that began without my help
but whose soul is my kin.
The soul of this Garden,
this errant masterpiece,
is an older brother to me.
And we groan together for redemption
like fledglings in a nest of longing
on a tree that’s been falling
since the roots of time first sprang.