by Michael King

this is my body, break it for you,
break it for both of us, til
our cups runneth over,
we drink from it and know
it is good, thou shalt
break it again

we were boys in pulpits, once,
words of condemnation
placed in our hands, scrap
of bread soaked in blood,
you are broken and will be
broken again, run away
from your wanting heart

and, o, were we to wander again
through ornate wooden doors,
shards of stained glass
bound together, and tell them
what we know, would they
hear us, let our people go,
breaking voices, thou shalt
let our people go