Pilgrim

In these Ages of Self
Sandstone houses of Selflessness
Are penury to this Age of Wealth;

We no more brewed an ego
On a pilgrimage to Portofino,
Nor hosted our ego’s health.

Yet we are shelterless now,
Palms open to the same rains
Which once drowned out

Our fathers in the filling fields.
Transubstantiation’s efforts
Require more than a little help.

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