Communion

Two nuns in their habits
undress slowly, facing away from the cross.
They do not speak.
Every inch of their bodies belongs to God
- every wrinkle, every sag,
every mole.
They wonder, silently, how much of Him
they have consumed -
flesh to tongue, His blood wrung
as juice in their wanting mouths.
As old as they are, it never fails to surprise them
how much of faith requires consumption.
Maybe, standing in the dark,
it shouldn’t.
After all, they have been consumed completely.
After all, there is nothing left of them
- not even their bodies -
not even in the dark.