We ever slip between cup and lip,
the constant drip,
wandering from communion
in daily trek.
The unchaliced word
tripped from tainted tongue,
the thought from stained intelligence,
the deed stale as breadcrumbs.
And yet, exposed, we shine
in the kneeling,
untarnished,
undeeded,
newly polished
and wrapped
in splendour.
Not silver plated,
a shrouding of gloss
on base matter,
but Eden’s
children,
solid silver
cast in perfection.
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