Emmaus

We should have known its between words
we recognise him,
the lacunas of grace
sitting between questions and stories.

The sun has set
and we are arriving at Emmaus,

and he pauses,
as we pause
in that awkward silence
of new friends
not yet familiar enough to know what to do next.
Another lacuna.
One where we feel there is something more to this man
his words not yet complete.

And so we ask him in
for supper,
and he joins us,

and we pause at the table
the simple supper between us,
and we hesitate,
knowing
he is the one to pray,

and in this lacuna,
he knows it too,
and now invites himself,

and the silences
blend together,
a levy of lacunas

that teeters into an amber explosion
of sunlight gold and russet breadcrumbs
cascading from the broken loaf,

holy and silent.
Crumbs are rolling in the air
and bouncing and skidding across the table
in slow-motion
drawing the silence into itself,

and we are left
in another,
greater,
lacuna,

for he is gone

but he is also here
in the space between us
in the breath we breathe,
the hope we live by,
the love we share,

only now
we have eyes
to see him.