A Candle-lit Feast
Come; it is time,
The Master of the feast welcomes you
Who bore him: mother of me;
The table is ample to feed all,
Yet the board cannot begin
Without you, nor without me.
~
She takes from the light,
Bearing it, bosomed in her hands,
Unfrighted at the flame’s heat;
Touching fire to death-cold, white wick,
Lifeless, yet unlit, neither shadowing, nor illuminating.
~
Fire leaps forth, a flash enliving this dead thing
~ as the one leaving us, casts a deadly draught of night in his depart ~
The little lamp-light lifts, then splutters and fails;
A puff of smoke, And all is darkness;
It is the long lightlessness once more.
~
None breathed in the now silent room,
Grave-black in its sepulchral darkness
Night again reigned;
The feast, hardly begun, was over …
~
In the timeless seconds it seemed days passed;
A crackle
A spark
And a different wind blew over their darkened faces,
Rustling hair, loosing clothing; blowing dust upon dust
As a new-light was reborn.
~
And there was extended: a hand,
His index finger pointing at the light,
And returning now into the bosom of the master’s breast.
~
Every eye was fixed upon him
As she spoke the woman’s words,
Clearly across all ages and aeons of table and time:
~
Blessed art thou, O Lord our God,
Ruler of the Universe
Who sanctifies us,
Commanding into light the lamp
On this, our great festal day.