Heads too heavy, bowed
And the fragrance rises like a prayer
Too strong for mortal sense.
Head and heart , learning
To track together with the Word
Made Flesh. The discipline of silence
Reveals the trembling will,
The unquiet vacillations.
I too must yield me,
Less blind but less united,
Joined to the distracting present
By a multitude of mercies
And a slowness to learn thanks.
Let me cup my hands,
Receiving this day’s measure,
Of bread, the Bread of Life,
Giving thanks, giving thanks,Forever.