Today, bread will just be bread,
nothing more, no symbolic flight;
there will be texture on the tongue,
the hard edge of a bite
and the brief, convulsive claim
of swallowing.
Today, wine will just be wine,
nothing more, no hint of a liquid
sacrificial force; there will be rich
fruit notes and languid subtle warmth;
surrender realized
physically.
There's plenty of poetry left in you, old chap.
ReplyDeleteBeautifully weighted through two verses.
Is this Postmodern Detransubstantiationism?
Thanks Dave. Maybe a little deconstructed transubstantiation.
ReplyDelete