Prayer after Communion
A POEM
Body, flesh and blood, feeling.
I have been here before, kneeling
in the snow, in dead-white zero.
This is a form I’ve touched before
and adored — a cooled cup,
a pool of liquid mahogany, a supper of the death of God.
Tensed for the tuggings of love,
I feel my way back, shivering,
past all the unnerving, icy touches.
Pew and kneeler hug me suddenly in confusion,
though they have seen me here before,
and all the while
the tiny glory of God
warms like an ember down within.
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