Thursday, March 18, 2010

Cyril of Jerusalem

submerged. there is a mystery

in this water, in breathing beneath

the surface of my sins. I try to believe

that two starry bodies with outstretched

arms (plus a wisp of a ghost) can become


I taste this bread over and over and still

cannot find the flesh. this wine leaves

echoes of something on my tongue

that I try and pinpoint. it is not what

flows beneath the skin from heart

to temple.

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