Dave Bonta's short poem plays on the word "hole," and the title's pun, "Hole-y," hints at holiness. The first lines imagine a "perfect hole of a state" that "should please the Lord." It's an odd, funny idea: that emptiness, rather than fullness or achievement, might be what is holy.
The middle stanza sets this against exhaustion. Someone is "sick with work," yet the mind is described as "free as the world." The poem seems to suggest that when we are worn down, something loosens, and the mind opens up like a space with nothing inside it.
In the last stanza, the speaker gets personal. There is a hole under their hand, and then they realize they are one: "the hole I find myself to be." The tone is quiet, wry, and a little startled. Being empty feels less like despair than like a strange relief, a kind of openness that is almost sacred.