I would also be St. Kevin, and ignore what keeps us from working with him, from emulating his example. I would work to a loss of self–a no-self–only gesture. Not for reward but to strive for the thing itself. To become the thing itself. To tree.
ST. KEVIN AND THE BLACKBIRD
And then there was St Kevin and the blackbird.
The saint is kneeling, arms stretched out, inside
His cell, but the cell is narrow, so
One turned-up palm is out the window, stiff
As a crossbeam, when a blackbird lands
and Lays in it and settles down to nest.
Kevin feels the warm eggs, the small breast, the tucked
Neat head and claws and, finding himself linked
Into the network of eternal life,
Is moved to pity: now he...
