My heart's beating

My heart’s beatings                                                                          
 
I swallowed Your wine,
causing me to dance in the streets;
 
letting my heart slip out a bit
from under the heel of my brain.
 
Years later, Your wine sings yet – in my blood –
not with the rough immediacy of tavern songs
 
but with the hymns and psalmodies of praise,
an influence to my every movement,
 
a blood-part of me, the strength of me,
the heaven’s sake of my heart’s beatings.
 
When this cup is crushed, when my blood is dust,
(judging the Infinite from the particular), I pray
 
Your wine will sing through me still,
filling my veins and throat, core and skull
 
with Your ethereal light and song
on my wondrous way to becoming You.
 
O child of God, wine loosens your tongue and sends you
rambling beyond the bounds of propriety.