The Eucharist

Simple silver cup
struggling to contain
the mercy of God,
flowing from the wounded side,
dripping from thorn pierced forehead
captured in our chalice
yet not ours to possess.

Pausing before us,
resting for a moment
on the altar of His love.

A tentative approach
knees trembling,
meeting cold stone floor,
head bowed, breath baited.
Those words

Shed for you.

A small sip
sufficient grace.

We rise from the floor
lifted by angelic host
returning to our seats
forever changed.

SJMC+
(Written: 29.IV.17)

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