Creation

Who breaks the bread,
blasting, flinging into creation
the cosmos in all direction,
sending its minute particles
stars spilling upon the void; free
flying, forever landing, to be
trampled on, seeds upon the ground;
ground into ground?

Who, as a cloud bursts,
explodes into consuming flood
the body and the blood,
and fills the whole world
with the world poured out?
We are not other the earth. Shout!
We are broken, poured, spilled,
drowned, necessarily free
in movement suffering
toward creation.

As children pour forth from
red ripped flesh, yellow
purple and white, so
the whole world suffers, oozes,
rushes through whose hand? Whose gut?
We are not other than God. Shout!
We are broken, poured, spilled,
drowned, delivered and delivering,
necessarily free
in movement suffering
toward creation.