Communion

This bread, this flesh I eat.
I break this crust, release the yeasty smell.
I lift loaves up,
assess the heft and yield.

My eyes are filled
with thanks and more than thanks.
I press my need.
I bring to you my hunger and you feed.

Call it greed,
but morning after morning I am back
and evening after evening
wear a track to where wild grasses keep
and where a spring
emerges cool and sweet.

The earth who is my mother
and the Sun
that fathers winter wheat,
make fall the rain,
have sown the world with lust.

You have strained
to do what brings me joy
and what you must
to meet my needs and yours…
and what I trust
to be what need expects
and nothing more.

And so you are my lover;
so you came to meet my need for friendship
and became
what I became for you.
And so the two
parts, as they are of one,
again are coined, but lightly,
as by light two mirrors are joined.