Belonging

Master, how many ways are there that I am yours?

As the poem is the poet’s, You conceived me.

As I am my mother’s, by Your Spirit You bore me.

As my hand enacts my thoughts, You embody Yourself in me.

As the field is the warrior’s, You conquered me.

As the dragon’s hoard is the hero’s, You despoiled my enemies of me.

As the pearl is the merchant’s, with all You had You bought me.

As walls and roof shape me a home, You inhabit me.

As the chair he sits in is the carpenter’s, You fashion me 

As the garden is the gardener’s, You labour in me.

So Yours that if You cease to think of me

I must return to quanta fizzling aimlessly

Into the void, and can no longer be.

Then since I am Your own so variously

One more way to be Yours now offer me,

The grace to give myself, entire and free.

So I am Yours, You mine, eternally.