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 Arrival at Emmaeus
 Anne Emmons 
 Left lonely at table, abruptly
 abandoned by a Third who,
 with reluctance, had remained
 to sup with us and bless a mournful
 
 meal of bittersweet returns,
 we both beheld within His absence
 an unexpected Presence,
 an unattended Friend.
 The room held hushed remnants of a sigh,
 illumined bits of dust and crumb, falling,
 resplendent, in the growing twilight.
 A trace of strange sweetness hung
 
 in that space as we, still captured
 in the moment between memory and fading
 dreams, stared into each other's souls,
 still savoring the taste of blessed
 brokenness and barely whetted thirst.
 A cup rests, untouched, upon a wooden table,
 its echo dissolves as the splendid
 silence clears for the next breath.
 
 Still, in these nagging attachments,
 the empty, anxious frailty of our bodies,
 freedom may at last be approached.
 Of course! truth ought to be proven
 
 in the elements of which we daily partake,
 even hourly crave.
 In walking, as we suffered an acute
 burning in the chest, a haunting
 
 twinge of memory's nerve, we strained
 to grasp the breadth of a mystery untold,
 to plunder some sacred grail.
 These did serve to seize our attentions,
 if only for the moment. Eternity enters,
 even more suddenly, eludes such
 isolated seconds of illumination,
 creates a new aloneness.
 
 Our senses were aroused, curiously
 troubled in broken recollections
 of a story far beyond their grasp; I wonder
 . . . it was, after all, not through homilies
 
 but hunger the Almighty has unveiled;
 His presence nowhere if not in the instant,
 the single well-worn form: crumbs upon
 the palm, drink held on the tongue.
 
 Of all we know of the Master, who
 was so present, always near,
 would he shrink to the obscure?
 He was seen when not yet sought, known
 
 in the unnamed, envisioned in our slumber.
 When at once the Word breathed into our grief
 stricken ears and Love arrested blindness, bread
 filled our empty hands, drink laved parched throats,
 
 our eyes lifted, open. Seeing beyond
 understanding, suspended within seeds
 of hunger and hope, is enlightenment:
 the Incarnation, which we shall touch.
 
 
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