Again, O God, see what I meant
and in your mercy make it true,
that not my deed but my intent
may somehow be made real in you.
Your image in me bruised and bent—
look on it, Lord, and make it new.
For all my good intentions, still
I chose this end, my good stillborn.
Nothing this time constrained my will:
My morning vow by noon forsworn,
and there is daylight left to fill
before night comes again, forlorn.
Yet fill one minute, Lord, with this:
Come to my spirit, to my heart.
Even a passing shadow’s kiss
would be enough. You will depart
again, but grant an instant’s bliss
all undeserved, with strength to start.
But ere I do your presence comes—
a moment snatched from where and when,
held between fingertips and thumbs,
once broken for five thousand men
that I may gather up the crumbs
and find your mercy new again.
And for that moment I’m restored,
your image made once more pristine.
How long will I so keep it, Lord,
before you make me wholly clean
to taste the new wine where it’s poured?
This, in my all, is what I mean.
Tribute to the Eucharist Michael Damaskinos, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=119817969
Kate Bluett 