Borrowed Garments

 

Borrowed Garments

I am a wanderer—
yet still my feet at eventide
return unto the selfsame threshold,
as doth a river,
which though it roam by winding banks
forgets not whence it sprang.

Each day I eat of what doth find me,
as birds that neither sow nor store,
though heaven knows my name
and lays its portion
ever in the same outstretched hand.
I sit with naught held forth,
and yet become the board
where many a silent hunger meets.

I live by what doth come—
by season, weather, hap, and grace—
and still the furrows meet the plough,
the lamps are lit at fall of dusk,
the door unbars when need is ripe.
I keep no reckoning of what I owe,
yet all my hours spend themselves
in quiet service,
as fire gives warmth
and counts it not a gift.

I leave no mark upon the road,
and yet the road grows long behind me.

They say the renouncer owneth naught—
then name me this:
what owns the sky,
that wears all hues
and keeps not one?
I pass through rooms and years
as players pass through borrowed garb,
nor take the costume for the flesh,
nor feel compelled
to lay it down.