Here I am in my corner, he said. The world
Has passed me by—and I, with pleasure, the world.
I know its language, but I scorn to use it.
I know its customs, but they are not mine.
This corner suits me well, despite one thing:
My talents cannot grow; there is no opportunity.
No opportunity?
It lies but in its meaning, "at the gate."
Come out then, for all corners run to nothing; and their ventures—
Cornered and self-cornered— with them.
No opportunity?
To impress mankind? Or to express
The man of God's creating? The moment teems with choices.
Your will, or God's, be done?
No opportunity?
What esoteric language would you use,
What secret sign? The language Jesus spoke flared into
Pentecostal meaning; the bread he broke
Is bread of life today.
