The well of your sadness

holds too,

the quantity

of your hope.

The reservoir of your pain

holds too,

the span

of your awakened heart.

The emptiness of your longing

holds too,

the substance

of your home.

Whatever creates pits and hollows,

chasms and ravines,

in you

are not at all

gauges of your lack...

but truer dimensions

of your capacities.