If tonight were the world’s last night
might I spend it striking the anvil
of rhetoric to prod wanderers to
become insiders?
Might I pester God to open his
doors slightly wider?
Might I quietly sip wine
with my sweet wife or keep
wrestling alone in what Yeats calls
my quarrel with myself?
As I cross the threshold
from one gift to another
leaving whirlwinds behind
will regret slip away as I find
my small faith is all I have
to lay before the throne?

Photo by Jozsef Hocza on Unsplash