Once before, a people named

a mystery gift ‘What is it?’

Then they ate it.

For forty years they ate

the mystery, the manna.

The job of The Poet is not

to explain the mystery—

her job is only to name it,

then to eat it.

The Poet knows the way

of the wilderness, circuitous

wanderings, meaningless.

She wakes, hungry to understand;

the mystery is born anew

each morning, and she eats.

Last mystery bite swallowed now,

last poetic ‘t’ crossed, and

The Poet finds her heart crossed.

The mystery tastes truth:

He is the manna from heaven

who said, “Eat, and remember Me.”

Now she eats the Land’s abundance

and the mystery gift ceases.

‘What is it?’ was mystery

and remains mystery,

and ever will be mystery.

The Poet writes the mysteries

and the mysteries write her, too.

She eats them and she eats Him—

and in writing, at last,

she enters His rest.

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Table of Contents

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01: The Enchantment of the Ordinary

02: The Language of Rejoicing

03: Created for the Feast

04: Real Presence

05: Ars Poetica