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If you believe it enough,
the bread he broke
was blessed with the same power
that let the Son of Man
feed five thousand
with five loaves and two fish,
that if needed,
a miracle could always
be appealed for
because He would not
send them away hungry.
Just think,
I now contain in my finite body
an infinitude disguised
as a sliver of dough,
the selfsame endlessness
that requires
only the purest of love
to step in and take over
where understanding falls short.

I close my eyes and here,
I am fingering the texture
of the pavement leading
to New Jerusalem.
It is more real than this room
more intricate than the
dawn I woke up to, in order
to partake of this blessing
more precisely etched
than the church hymns so solemn
they make me restless
like Jeremiah’s fire
within my bones, looking
for an escape to burn through.

And if you can conjure up
enough faith,
the wine in this cup
was infused with the impossible
by the same hands that transformed
the water in the jars
at the wedding in Cana.
Just think,
through these lips I’ve always known
has just passed an essence
as sacred as the memory
of the blood
that spilled on Mount Calvary,
that yesterday it was grape juice
but today—
through a distance of one prayer
it is a fluid vessel
to forgiveness

and I suppose I can’t
capture it in a verse
but I can wrap my life around it
and breathe it
and try my hardest to be it.

“Dark Sadness 2” by photographer Lora Palmer