This poem was composed by Abigail Woolley and read during our communion time last week. It seems fitting that we have to reflect upon further. Thanks for sharing Abigail!

You come to know slowly what it is
for the clear mystical blood of a grass blade to surge
along its striped veins—
in the same green blade that gleams with all the sunlight of a day
in a sudden silver spark.
It is like, you know, the blades of a railroad track
         being unsheathed and laid along the prairie surface,
          stake-sealed, tie by tie,
Touching the earth, close and even, and miles on end,
         like a long jaw clenched
         in predictable, perfect contact with the upper teeth.
An atom is not more finite than the universe,
and these two Venn specks each comprehend the same
Still, imagine the years of travel it would take
          to get from the sun to its beam, the body to the pancreas,
         or the melon to the molecule.
I wish you welcome to the road between (you,
         years along already)
welcome to the eye of the needle, the pupil of the eye,
          the mountain lake that is entered so easily by the otter
         and the bedrock beneath it which the miner
          has been blasting since his boyhood.  
Feel the tug of the faithful thread that courses
from the crust of all things to the core.
Centuries hum down the uneventful thread, then
lightning strikes,
comes and runs from heaven to your hand turned up
and crystallizes in the form of a breadcrumb.