Muttered Communion Poem by Felix Bongjoh

(i)

Incense or sprayed
menthol,
candlewax spears
shot to the nose,

also touch an altar's
guards and knights

stretching out
arms and palms
to those who bow

with storm waves
of regret
rising higher
and higher

to the warm lips
that kiss dust
and brittle clay
spinning molded man.

Myrrh's sharp
needles of scent
also prick nose
and ears
of whispering birds

in wind and storm
and rising smoke

to stroke and sniff
their light
across roaring
nights of storm.

(ii)

Rays of sun,
streaks of twinkling
stars wind-blown

to touch
unclad chests,
O dive through.

Sink down
a spine dipped
in sludge

and stuck in the bog
of hawk-beaked

trespasses, a labyrinth
of roads
to the yawning cave
of evil.

(iii)

With a shell
fish's light
lighting up

a floor
beneath the sea,

falling arms
and palms

tossed and curled
over from
the firmament,

I peek at
my trespasses
in the thick flesh
of silt

and slippery moss
and sticky plankton,

the only blanket
I wrap myself
up with. O cleanse me.

Let my eyes pierce
through all
these onyx beams
of night,

cream and silver
curves and orifices
of dawn jumping

down with sun-rayed
arrows of day light.

O beams from your
dropping hands,

stroke me,
your palms padded
with dove feathers,
as I slobber with regret.