To a Weakling

DO not speak of faith in me.

Do not pour out your heart upon me, only to soil me with what you think I am.

Do not crown me king of your limitations.

Do not chatter about understandings.

Do not mention lasting friendship.

Do not speak.

I am striving to hear each note of the swallows

swooping through the door of the barn.

I am striving to hear each whine of the autumn winds

sidling about the eaves.

I am longing to tell you that what I am is likely to cause in you a shudder;

that what I am is likely to silence you;

that I have done all things;

and that I am proud—

serenely proud—

of having no limitations.

Fool, could I silence you

by telling you these things?