Mortar and Pestle


Mortar and Pestle
Between hate and enmity, the rose
is crushed; the rose–that never was other
than an opening to love.
Beneath the mill-stone, the grain
is crushed; the grain–that never was other
than a nurturing for love.
Wreathed in flame, the lamb
is consumed; the lamb–that never was other
than an offering of love.
The grapes–crushed
and fermented–bloat the skins
for a coming flight.
Now that you are crushed,
take your staff, and set your face
toward New Jerusalem


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