The Lover of My Soul iv Dusting

The Lover of my soul

came to me

in the form of an unspoilt village;

one on the Somerset levels,

tucked away,

its rusty bricks

and weathered oak beams

breathing easily

in the cool air and warm sun.

A grey spire stood still.

He said, ‘Come with me’

and led me inside:

a woman weeping

over accumulated dust

lying on the bookshelf

each layer put down

grief upon grief

And he said,

Can you heal a broken heart?

Don’t give me: ‘Thou knowest’

In the silence

he held a wafer

and a goblet of wine.

I knelt like a child.

Freely you have received

freely give.

The woman looked up,

her heart listening to the rhythm:

‘Take. Eat. This is my body

Broken for you.’

We left her dusting

repeating the words

‘Broken for me?’

‘Poured out for me?’

‘Drink it; all of you.’

Like thieves we slipped away.

Past the village green

And the church spire

Piercing heaven

As it must