Sanctification

Tonight, in that milky half-sleep, it feels
as if my body is lifting into flight.
It is, perhaps, because all of your creation
is swaying,
and the earth is turning,
and in its violent spinning, you are shedding
our sullied skins
to be flung--forgotten--far below
the earth where you do not dwell.
You abide beyond space, that ever-expanding
black velvet pouch full
of precious stones
tumbling
in precise motion, some shining
brighter every day, and others wearing down
to nothing.

We change in our movements, even
in sleep,
and as we move we acknowledge
that we have been created--
so each night
as I bed down to sleep
I imagine, first, that your hand
is on my cheek,
and, second, that the old me
is falling away, pulled away
by the gravity of your will,
so that each cell remaining is being renewed
and polished
that I may shine as
even the tiniest jewel
in your vast design.

Longing for Communion

My love, I have caused you to fall.
I have sinned
and it is all my fault.

Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa.

Therefore when the Bread was lifted, my chilled heart was drawn upwards
as a bird flies into the sun, for it
was just as luminous.

Then the chalice, that terrible cup of Wine poured liberally from
His own wrists--two spouted vessels.
I could not turn away. My own veins cried at its sight.

Kyrie eleison.

My eyes darkened with tears as I watched the faithful approach the rail,
and return with faces aglow with His presence,
as if they had just descended Mount Sinai,
For I had to remain.

Christe eleison.

I longed for that sustenance, kneeling, weak with hunger,
and I imagined what it would be like:
The blood would flow swiftly, rich and warm, filling
in the empty spaces, repairing the riverbeds of veins and arteries
crumbling from drought.
It would rush to the very tips of my capillaries,
revitalizing them with life, as green willows that sway and bend on the riverbanks.
The trunks would stretch to feed from the sun.

Beati qui ad cenam Agni vocati sunt.

But for now, do not be angry with me, my love,
for I am weak.
Hold my hand as we kneel together. Comfort me,
and I you, as we wait for the day when
Christ's broken body will heal ours,
and our faces, too, will glow with life.