Holy Communion Poem by James Mullaney

Deep inside a slumber I was woken
by Mary. It was my first rest in days.
I wrote down her words, those she had spoken.
Then I communicated, welling praise.

'The monk who fasts on seeds and forage fare,
'drinks green tea, voyages to mist-drekked spheres,
'suspires in pure realms, finds those heights too rare
'sometimes, and midnights shrill with chthonic fears.
'The Bread Of Life restores you, pilgrim. Spread
'in time and space, the Eucharistic feast
'is sensible food, blest and broken bread,
'the body and blood of Jesus. The priest
'at Mass exalts the Host of ground wheat flour,
'and hermits serve the Bride an extra hour.'