Lars Johnson

When the bread and wine are blessed
and the holy water touches the soft pate
of the newly redeemed, I strain to catch
a glimpse—a spark, a puff of smoke, the
shadow of a dove descending or rising—
but the caul of my condition obscures
my vision and I cannot see. Walk with me
as you walked with the Hebrews; talk with me
as you talked with the prophets; touch me
as you touched the blind and the lame. I am

your child yet I have never seen
your face or felt your hands.



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