Blood is poured and flesh is broken,
Yet in either wondrous token
Christ entire we know to be.
We are not good, and yet we seek to become so.
As I eat your flesh, I pray that you eat mine;
devour my pitiful heart,
bore into it, chip away at it,
until the stone inside it crumbles.
I see you just beyond the grate:
I do not see you, per se,
as far as seeing is done with our eyes,
but I can sense your presence
with my heart that is becoming yours
I feel the suffusion of your presence in my present.
Such sweet suffusion; why would I deny it?
I approach you with
light feet and heavy heart,
that my steps may tune themselves to yours.