Sara’s silver chalice
glows up on the altar.

It glows like an artist
waking up each morning
fresh with metal dreams,
trudging through Ontario snows
to her studio in the barn.

Its gold-lined interior
shows every loving
hammer mark.

Sara’s father wanted to give
Father Ken a new chalice
for his brand new church.
So sketches were exchanged
and silver was bought
and Father Ken received a
Christmas Eve surprise.

Sara also made two glowing patens,
which cradle Communion hosts.
She packed everything carefully
and drove for twenty hours,
because she wouldn’t trust
these treasures to airport handlers.

Sara’s silver chalice
catches morning sun up on the altar,
glowing like a mediator
between heaven and earth.

The holiest objects in the world
were made by human hands.



We see
through fog
one building at a time,
Southern Bell,
Pensacola Pool and Patio.
One car crawls ahead.

We also move enclouded
slower than
we want to be.
Christmas plans are miles away
from silent night.

Inside the only house we see,
one Adam, one Eve
tend a tree.