It rose like a round wafer,

magnified on the chilled horizon.

I heard the deep Bishop voice…

“Body of Christ.”

I gazed at the moon.

“Amen.”

The Eucharist suspended

in my imagination

a remembrance.

A fear filled day

of consumption.

I swallowed Jesus.

Like the reflection

of a lifeless body

in the night sky

the body of Christ

hung on the Southern Cross

to intersect our planet’s pulse.

I remembered first communion.

The Southern Cross is the smallest of the constellations. Its proper name is Crux, Latin for cross. I am protestant now but I will never forget the day as a young boy receiving first communion.