“Consecrated Hands”

In the place where smoke and silence meet, the altar keeps a steady beat. Hands that offer, hands that feed, learn the law of holy need.

What touches here is set apart, a quiet rule for every heart: the clay that cooks must break and fall, the bronze be cleansed, made whole, made small.

Eat the gift within the court, let sacred service be your sort; yet what is brought to holy place must not return to common space.

Burn what binds the blood to sin, let fire finish what begins; so, offerings teach the tender art, to consecrate the hands and heart.