A need is only the space shaped
to receive a precise
dispensation of grace.
Inkling it is of an exact fit:
not light diffused,
not formless gift
but substance scaled unerringly
to match some further
seek for it.
Not vacuum but transparency:
this clear of air—
this wait in me
for Providence, in perfect play,
once more to brim
a pilgrim's way:
as waters, welled from boundlessness,
flood to its full
a deepened course.
