The Servant emptied himself of

uniform, honor, and accolade

by kneeling on a plank floor

with a towel

and washing street dirt and shit

from the feet of his friends.

 

No volume of leather-bound

liturgical ritual, written on calfskin

in illuminated inks of gold and indigo

can change that dark and beautiful

scandal-filled night.

No doctrinal platitudes

spoken in sonorous sobriety

by centuries of bejeweled shamen

can drown out the sounds of

the wet towel, the filled basin, and

the guttural wonder of

men confronted by true

complete

and perfect

emptiness..

 

 

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