ANOTHER GOOD FRIDAY
Let not this day grow stale,
the crumbs of Communion dry upon my tongue,
nor the wine turn rancid
when my long-bottled faith is exposed to air.
Let me not soak my indifference into a sponge
as sour vinegar
and raise it on hyssop branch
to mock the lips of one who thirsts.
Let me not forget
the spilling out,
the red stains
the taste of
the True Wine.