The more

The more I wash

the leper’s wounds,

the more I see

my own uncleanness.

The more I feed

the hungry’s mouths,

the more I feel

my own starvation.

The bread is broken;

the wine is poured out;

memory renewed.

Photography by Ximo Pastor via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission.

On Communion Sunday

Light touches the silver plates,

casting shimmering reflections,

dozens of flickering illuminations

upon the arched and beamed ceiling,

like lightning bugs on summer’s night

captured not in jars but in bits and pieces

of bread, more than sufficient to feed

the five thousand, and in wine, more

than sufficient to supply the wedding.

A bird slices the currents of the air,

spreading the light, spreading the lights.

Photograph by Petr Kratochvil via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission.