Eucharist*
by Bill Haley

The new day breaks with golden hue
and sunlight fills the room,
with promise and peace
and promises of peace,
three coming inconsistently
while they wrestle with a season’s gloom.

But still they come, a warrior trinity
to fight fiends and demons, fanged and clawed
whose hisses and blows lead to prayer
and to God,
who bidden then comes with the morning light.
Til all is light?
Til fled the night?

Not on this side of glory;
The story of a faithful’s life
is how he handles the strife inherent
in the living on this poisoned soil,
how he manages the toil and war
that is real, that is real
(one woke up bruised from buffets in the night),
and how God comes
with peace and promise
and promised delight,
in midst and in spite of the real,
with the True.

The end of that tale is like last night
that ended in black
but wakes up in blue.

There is no priest, no bread, no wine,
the choir is a whistling fire
the row of pine stands ready assistant:

So take this bread
and take this wine,
this morning light
your sweet sacrament.

*with gratitude to Williams, O’Brien,
Palmer, Fr. James, and Teilhard