Cana

They have no more wine.

In prayer, dry prayer,

I realize that I am empty;

there is nothing of the sacred,

the holy in me.

I am blind,

reaching for your face,

your hands.

I touch nothing.

All joy is gone

and in its place

is emptiness.

Even hunger is gone.

My eyes are dry

and I must go on

even deprived of hope.

But I must say:

I have no wine.

April 1998

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