Union

At it’s holiest, this communion…
The body and (Oh!) the body!
How I eat of it everywhere but here,
Here at this silken altar,
Here I lay resigned, sacrificed before,
But no more. Brought bread to bartar
For water, for survival, not at all for
Remembrance. I used to dance like a child,
I used to run like one too…
Slow but imagining speed, desire imagining need,
The body and (Oh!) my broke down dream.
This table of intimacy, laid out for me,
The bride and the only.
A soft confessional for unity,
For the holiest of holies to meet.
So close now but so long between.
I tend to stay away.

Refreshed by the tint of the wine,
The lingering sting on the tongue.
Convening my fears, my vanities.
Away blood, alcohol and nudity,
Away chance to live one honestly.
(The chance to live with honesty.)
Perhaps always flowing penance
Prevents a growing celebration flood.
What good is commemoration that doesn’t cleanse?
Wine that doesn’t ease?
A story that doesn’t hold memory?
Anticipation that does not tease?

Swirl that glass, pull back those covers.
Cease distant confessions, become a lover.
Become one who does not leave the Tent,
One who is not hesitant…
(Oh!) The body, oh so smooth to call.
(Oh!) The blood still so gritty to tell
The realness of a life in salvation,
The texture of an invitation,
To a holy table of lived communion,
To my God, my One, this sweet reunion.