living becomes sacramental

wordcraft for the feast of st. benedict:

love descends from my lips
to take root in my heart
that turns out to be
such a fertile womb of faith
the exchange of which
leaves me breathless

in that breathless brush
with the kiss of death
the fullness of time surges
in but an instance of grace

the dilation of which
plunges me into the depths
of an eternal well of wisdom
momentarily cut to the quick
i put down my clanging symbol

as the timbre of my garish gong fades
a new source of strength
ascends from the spring of silent insight
and my living becomes sacramental –
filled with the Reality to which it witnesses

here-to-for to subsist from faith to faith
in the deeper currents
beneath restless waves
where a hidden love
bears all things