Communion

Begin here then, perpetual beginner--
into the rank compost of history falls
a seed,
into the hard unpromising soil
of our waking-sleeping-walking around lives,
a dead man,
eased down from its humiliating throne--
caressed, wept for, laid in a rock tomb--
tell me who would have called this wisdom?
Who would have named it love?
Who could have placed his hope just here,
just where the bitterness blinded and burned,
just where the fear pounded down,
shattering hearts.

And yet,
up through the cracked concrete,
up from the caked embittered clay,
what the shattered heart received in tears,
now leaps to life as plain as day.