Bread

The great fullness
of a yellow moon
hangs low
againt the opaque,
blackness of night.

Quiet clouds
stretched thin,
lazy as they pass
through the light.

The warmth
of your presence
wraps
as a warm cloak
about me.
Winter's bite
stings my cheeks.
My breath lingers
visible in the cold
before me.

My Lord,
Your words
fill my thoughts,
they permeate,
transform,
they give life.
They are bread to me.
They sustain me.

You sustain me.

Copyright Joy Chastagner January 2013