I believe in the believers who live
in earthly bodies; these are angelic
whose genesis is the Tree of Life.
A union of pomegranates, gazelles grazing
give image to our beating hearts.
Whereon a sidewalk the unknown beggar
turns to friend and sudden bard
we hear a story about
Christ in the faces of everybody,
Saint Francis walking out naked,
leaping from his horse, offering his cloak,
rejecting his father’s hoard
for the love of God. It’s courage that
our action does not hinge upon
the weekly bulletin or the ordinary office.
Calling our men home from the long war,
horn of peace sounding, we women up
in flocking colors, folding you into me,
I put away empire. I like you best.
Somebody begins a riotous laugh
in a circle, slapping thighs hard,
throwing necks back like Sophia
going down with her flame-tongue
licking foreheads, good news
breathing into translation.
Behold, two fingers and a thumb
unfurled in benediction.
Bring the fish, and the wine,
and the bread.
Now we’ll lie down in green pastures
of city parks with each other;
you turn over and whisper,
Sweet Lord of the salt earth,
this is my body.
I give it up to you.
image: Creative Commons CC0