First Communion (for my baby daughter)

Before you were born you were
the watcher of galaxies whirling within.
Then you asked the Great Question:

What would it be like to live
on one of those infinitesimal dust motes
floating in a golden beam of your heart?

What would it be like to carry
the whole bruise of a supernova
in your softest tissue?

And here you are, little one,
crying for milk! Here you are
where all the circling stars are less

than a drop of fire falling
into the boundless blue bowl
of your gaze.

Here, where the Question no longer arises,
you have come to dwell in the uncertain
and call it Presence;

to drink from the unknown
and call it Wine;
to savor a breath of silence

through your broken heart
and call it Bread.
This is better than a thousand answers.



Picture, my daughter Abigail