You gather up the fragments which remain that none be lost: the things we could have been (quite what, who knows, but something more than this— leftovers, scraps, discarded casually); the scattered memories in their tiny heaps, mere crumbs remaining from a life once whole; and all the little broken bits of dreams that started fresh but now are stale and old. The crowds are heaving, yet you see the crumbs and number them just as you do the stars. You have a world to save but you still pause to gather every fragment in your arms. To all your names, I add another one and give you worship, Jesus of the crumbs.
After Feeding the Five Thousand
After Feeding the Five Thousand
After Feeding the Five Thousand
You gather up the fragments which remain that none be lost: the things we could have been (quite what, who knows, but something more than this— leftovers, scraps, discarded casually); the scattered memories in their tiny heaps, mere crumbs remaining from a life once whole; and all the little broken bits of dreams that started fresh but now are stale and old. The crowds are heaving, yet you see the crumbs and number them just as you do the stars. You have a world to save but you still pause to gather every fragment in your arms. To all your names, I add another one and give you worship, Jesus of the crumbs.