From Feast upon the Word (http://feastupontheword.org). Copyright, Feast upon the Word.
to those of the church
peaceable pilgrim, resting in hope,
to thee I speak these few angelic words of grace:
faith (the threshingfloor)
Word unspoken
as bread is broken
and giv'n with token
into my hand as solemn sign,
by which I, calling,
cease from my falling
and summon, stalling,
the very God I malalign.
a monad sighing,
no longer dying,
directly crying
out to the face that sees me, one,
and seen, departed,
on journey started,
and so, light-hearted,
I, walking, leave off men for Son
charity (the winevat)
no meek libation,
this celebration,
work of creation,
a pouring out of words unbound:
immersion burning,
but lacking yearning,
and gift not earning
that opens commerce, gives it ground
in which, vines growing,
is found more knowing,
the earth bestowing
a meeting-point for men of drink:
and we, related,
hope to be sated
in dealings dated,
economy, not God, to think
hope ()
two violent places,
two pilgrim faces,
so one embraces
infinity, in its idea
