He drank the wine
behind the altar
in solitude, for God.
A roach had fallen in
though unbeknownst
perhaps God-given
in its holy wisdom.
And when the words
about the flesh and blood
were heard as echoes,
he knew with certainty
that there was righteousness
inside the Beaujolais.
Herbert Nehrlich
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/holy/
