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
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

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