Sunday, September 13, 2009


"Verily, verily, I say unto you, Except a corn of wheat fall into the ground and die, it abideth alone: but if it die, it bringeth forth much fruit." (John 12:24)


Two spent rubbers--
Not one, but a pair--
Lie in the gutter
Of a rain-slick street
And glisten in the moonlight,
Perhaps from the rain,
Twisted and tangled
In slithering coils.

On this Sunday,
The Lord's Day,
His houses are filled
With the faithful,
Arisen to praise
Him with the dawn.

But here in the street,
These sacred vessels
Of a different faith
Have been cast away,
Like tokens of shame
Or a one-night fling.

The voices of choirs
Ring out and lift up,
And angels awake
And circle the sun
As if to give thanks
For life on this day.

But here on the street,
Are these chalices
Filled with the blood
Of God in the flesh?