We break this bread; and then the crack
Like bones that snap or gunfire lead.
It fractures air; a fissured tear
In this expectant space.
Now in breaking there the sight;
In split flits light. The host is making
Wings to wear; our freedom here
Bought by extravagant grace.
Now befriended at this table
I am able to be mended.
For by Love’s death we find life’s breath;
This is a healing place.
And ragged edge is handed round,
The only sound a soft Amen.
This bread we share; what feast compares
With love that we can taste?
(C) Susannah Underwood Passiontide 2019