At The Table

could i taste this manna? 
the dew-bread of heaven on our lips.
oh, come down.
bitter, blood-soaked and beaten bread,
broken body from whom life flows;
come down to us.
are we not that which we eat?
transfuse Yourself into us & pour out
of our hands and our feet
as we wander amidst the never-satisfied hungry;
our trails-made-arrows pointing back
to only You.
red iron-oxygen paths
we walk toward Your dwelling
Your holy mountain.



Director of Hospitality