Grace and Peace to you.
The stone the builders rejected
has become the cornerstone.
Close your eyes to the earth you walk on.
Disregard the humming beneath you.
Do not look at that moon, unfailing.
It will help to find reason to fault.
Pay no attention to the magnificence
in the laborer on the street, the divine
glory pounded into the silver bowl of him.
Practice condescension, then oblivion.
Veil your fear of the divine approach,
your terror at heaven’s abject humility,
in simple disdain, pleasant obsession
with the addictive veneer.
Look away from the holy in that tree,
the man hanging there—so marred
is his appearance—no, only the calm
wheels of deserving, and our smart outfits.
The Beloved’s kiss, the hand that saves you
wrap themselves in the contemptible,
in the despised and condemned.
Blessed are the pure in heart.
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