Braided Bread of Presence

This poem invites you to linger — to taste each metaphor slowly, to digest its layers, and to discover how meaning multiplies when shared in community.

So now appear we once more in eve’s hour,

Gathered global gloried saints that pray,

Some upright, some reclined, all reading,

Drifting, thoughts of days as flour sifting,

Through memories faded, integrated, whisking.

Eggs added as reflections twisting,

Braided like yeasted dough left to rise while mixing.

Greased pan of life in oven’s trials closed,

Heated to perfection as golden braided loaves,

Friction of living as aroma from baking rose,

Sweet bread of the Presence in us clothed.

Wrapped in stoves, crusted over with golden pain in prose,

The buttered finish as it cools, as it shows.

To us the unity of saints gathered, partaking,

Imbibing the Life, the pressed pieces breaking,

Spirit-filled grains in soul remaking,

Beauty digested, mystery taking,

Fullness embraced, sorrow mistaken,

We are consumable, offered for taking.