by Jonathan Hunter-Kilmer
my soul is open
eyes are closed
nerves herniated and exposed
though sleep won't come
the sure pain will
unfiltered
but by You distilled
intensified impurity
temptation
and for pleasure greed
I will not ask
what it demands
to be delivered from its hands
a gift a gift is
and will be
and joy accepted gratefully
will teach me nothing
if a hurt
is masked
and not allowed to spurt
like blood
from Your so wounded flesh
or gladness
from Your hallowed creche
the pain is measureless
and can
flow freely
to build up the man
or woman
who takes it from You
Beloved
as lushly it runs through
into my brain
and out my lips
in prayer
and back in through cup sips
for this too Your communion is
I taste it willingly
Your kiss
and so embrace
as penitent
Your gift
so given
not just lent
