I tell myself,
I am satisfied,
and my heart immediately
betrays my lie:

Dear God, I would like … and … and … and …

Again I try to pray,
I am satisfied, O God,
but my soul is too restless
for this to be true:

Dear God, I want to do … and … and … and … 

What can I say,
Most Merciful God,
and whatever can you make of
such a discontented spirit?

When I awake I shall be satisfied by your face,

but I am dissatisfied
with my own face, and
disappointed in all I see around me.
Would that you could transplant —

heart for heart, like a new tree taking root in the ground

where a stump has been —
my discontent and dis-ease
to replace them with gratitude and gladness
that mark every step and breath.

on Psalm 17:15

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