Meditation on a cracked Slab in the Church
Perfect from God
(But formed by our frail
And fallible hands),
The worn, cornered stone
It is fettered and ruled
By a four-square correctness,
But explore it right through
And the intricate structure
And dense fossil galaxies
Are vaster than thought,
Than mere mortal reason.
And then there’s the break
Where the cracking’s a diary,
An honourable scar
And the crumbling’s a tally
Of faltering, skipping,
Of many a cautious and
Slow-measured step,
Of brides and of children
And shuffling mourners
And we who are drawn
As we’re
Called to The Table.