Blessed are the birds…
The feathered Eucharist
Happy are these birds above who
never have to go to mass.
Happy fragile feathered things with
light not stained by glass.
Blessed are they beak and claw; their air
Is ever sacred.
Blessed be their treetop temple, each twig
a flying arch.
And sacred is each song that choirs
from sparrows or from larks.
Happy are these crows and cranes
Whose Eucharist is endless.
And may the vaulted holy sky
Be full of wings as birds fly by
On their way to ruffled worship.
(With thanks to Juan Raman Jimenez, ‘The Silversmith and I’.)