Last Supper

We had met with him in an upper room,
his love reaching out to each one of us
in turn, and it is only now we have remembered
the heartbreak in his eyes as he gave Iscariot
his greeting. Blind moles - we offered him
nothing but puerile squabbles and ignorant ambitions -
hiding our fears and his anguish
in the dark ossuaries of consciousness.

But then there was bread and there was wine,
sanctified in his hands for us,
and a new meeting with the Almighty.
For a little space, in the balm of his voice,
time forgot to move on.