Eucharist II

The wine spills into my body

through lie-stained lips

enters my bloodstream

mingles with the

givenness of my blood

obediently nourishes

cell and soul.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Meanwhile

I carry on

like an ignorant

executioner

who occasionally wonders

how he came

to do this work. 

Summer 2019

I am sailing along the asphalt stream,

over the rolling hills,

through the softness of green

that is Iowa in summer.

I want to run my hands

across the tassel fur,

over the nappy trees,

wade in the bean rows

to penetrate their texture,

sink into the wonder.

I pass by,

but I am cleansed. 

Flow

You can

stand in the river.

Feel it caress

and flow away from you.

Mourn its indifference,

its constant leave-taking.

You can ride the river. 

Rest in your

buoyancy.

Enter the flow

caressing and baptizing

whatever is encountered.

Trust the wisdom of

its deep energy

as it carries you

on its course.