Seasonal

I can not help wonder,
how words are jumping ahead of the thought,
how words became barren and transparent
drained of any love;
some threads, some calluses stuffed in the brim
The water is not changed into wine anymore,
while praying our bodies are no longer the bread.
I can not help wonder
how the masks were sewn on our faces
the word springs out crooked through our mouths
soiled by the curses
I can but hope
that His blood will wash away the sins.

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