faith pieces (II)

he finishes chewing and stands there patiently, waiting for me as i round the edge of the table and sway my head to the side to allow ample distance between the candle and my hair. (in earnest i fear the irreverence that would ensue should i catch myself on fire). the air is charged with lamenting and prayer, and the loop of people around the table flickers with movement: hands held cupped, fingers flashing the sign of the cross over their bodies, lips moving to eat and to pray, the flow of bodies to and fro, raising the cup to their lips, turning their heads down to meditate. and he stands, waiting for me, a tall man, strong like an overgrown boy, with eyes that remind me of a sad dog. and those eyes peer with all faith and solemnity at the chalice in my hands. i offer him the cup, and he takes it, but waits to drink. i catch the candlelight refracting from the mottled golden goblet and the deep red wine swirling inside. he holds it gingergely, gently, like a child, and waits as i speak grace to him. "the blood of Christ, shed for you," i speak into the depths of eyes that truly believe it. believe it with a ferocity and with a peace, a fire and a balm, tremors and stillness. my words crumble as i speak, crumble into bigger words, higher words, words infused with power that i myself do not possess. and his eyes do not falter though my voice does. he sips the cup, seeing not me, but the cross behind me, and he is so strong that i clench my throat and tense my nostrils, making smooth my cheeks to recieve my own tears.