Miracle

another sunday holding storms inside—
i must confess that i’m not wholly here.
above, the choir trills and we reply
with ancient melodies learned by the ear.
the priest floats closer, elements in hand—
i wonder, can he hear my sinking thoughts?
this spiralling has caught me in a trance—
exhausted knees fall on the cushioned spot—
but then my heavy head is raised from low
for broken hearts receive the blessing still:
a burning sip that travels down my throat,
this crumb that tells me of a higher will—

receiving Fullness, even when we’re bare—
a miracle here in the cup we share.