FEED ME, ALSO, RIVER GOD,
lest by diminished vitality and abated
vigilance, I become food for crocodiles—for that quicksand
of gluttony which is legion. It is there—close at hand—
on either side
of me. You remember the Israelites who said in pride
and stoutness of heart: “The bricks are fallen down, we will
build with hewn stone, the sycamores are cut down, we will change to
cedars”? I am not ambitious to dress stones, to renew
forts, nor to match
my value in action, against their ability to catch
up with arrested prosperity. I am not like
them, indefatigable, but if you are a god you will
not discriminate against me. Yet—if you may fulfil
none but prayers dressed
as gifts in return for your gifts—disregard the request.