Communion

I sit before the page
waiting on the words.
They fall into my fingertips and I watch in splendor
as my hands dance across the keyboard.
This is how I know God.

I sit before the canvas
waiting on the imagery.
It flows into my brush and I watch in awe
the colors chosen, the shapes formed.
This is my religion.

I pierce the cloth
with beckoning threads....
in and out and in and out.
This is my prayer.

I sit with those I love
listening with my heart
until it chooses to speak.
This is my confession.

What results is but a whisper,
a feeble reflection of presence, entertained.
What remains is an enduring awareness
that I am not alone.
This is my communion.