Cana
They have no more wine.
In prayer, dry prayer,
I realize that I am empty;
there is nothing of the sacred,
the holy in me.
I am blind,
reaching for your face,
your hands.
I touch nothing.
All joy is gone
and in its place
is emptiness.
Even hunger is gone.
My eyes are dry
and I must go on
even deprived of hope.
But I must say:
I have no wine.