The Mirror

My heart starves for him
through bread become flesh,
in wine bleeding passion --
he whose throne burns
in a heaven
found only through death.

Kneeling before the face
of suffering and sweat,
I reach out
one last time,
touch the lifeless marble
and leave.

Outside church,
steeples loom black
against stars
burning with your stare.

You live there, 
between veils of ash
spewed from a billion dying suns,
in wombs swollen
with the infant light
of worlds.

And further in, behind my eyes,
you birth the cells
living and dying
in the flicker of my spirit.

You breathe within my chest,
gaze outward through my eyes
at your face
reflected in the endless
flowing mirror.

Scott Speck
06/26/99