Hungry

everywhere
every moment
in every leaf that falls,
in every dew drop
poised on edge,
in every blade of grass
brown or green,
in every seed
waiting to be spent,
I see hunger,
the universe gorging on itself,
driven by a raging fire
to thrive, to feed
everything alive,
dead or dying,
hungry for a taste
of anything called life;
the feast of a life
well-lived.

The Last Supper

today I feel a heaviness
that I want to carry,
without understanding
or even naming -
not for you,
not for the world
you gave yourself to,
but for myself;

today I want to feel
and drink the heaviness
as I look into your eyes,
to see you raise the cup
of sweet wine
flowing from the hearts
of your fellow men,
poured into their work;

today I want to feel
and taste the heaviness
as I touch your form,
to watch you break the bread
with the fullness and largeness
of a universe in a universe,
living for and feeding on
a billion blazing suns;

only today, can I sit with you
across the same table,
to feast on life -
yours and mine,
and come to understand
what it is to serve
and to be served
by Life.