Communion ©

By Roy Dean Doughty

Written October 10th, 2008

Listen here for my reading of “Communion”


Yes.  Now, the night begins to shine with these luminous
Cathedrals, neither starlight, nor moonlight, but spaces
Bigger than God, housing such certainty, that we no longer
Even have to look outside to sink deeper into the enigma.
Yes.  That syllable, that immense sanctuary lit by the light
Of dreams, the light of the far away brought frighteningly near.
Yes. How could we think to sleep, when it is finally here:
The inexplicable edifice of Time.
This is not the place that we imagined it might be,
Muscled with exotic black jaguars, crowned by golden
Ziggurats, ripped out of our chests by the sanguine power of priests.
It is, instead, the ordinary made monstrous and moving
By the growing completion of a feeling, the emotion
X that dwarfs the God who made it, the fulfillment,
Tonight, in this planet of sleepless doom, of something
Set right, in the shade of suburban eves, in a giant stillness,
Which now comes feathered and hungry, a sharp-eyed raptor,
The black corvid of the last, great, possible moment,
Which swoops down and plucks the heart from its
Breathless bed, so that all of our longing disperses in a fury,
And a red blooms forth from the altar crying “Yes!”