This Rising Poem by Steven Federle

I wanted to be the thundercloud
pounding fury in electric flashes,
but impatiently the earth pulled me down,
and trapped me, like silent, winter tule fog,
pausing over dark, delta waters

until I rose over the darkening valley
and observed the crescent moon
ascending over seaward hills,
effervescent disc
dissolving into death,
while radiant, scimitar edge,
rent the black night.

In the pure air at last,
just beneath the black vacuum of my limit,
I discern the elevated host,
this consecrated, bloody body,
in the agony of redemption,
in the glory of this perfect moment,
this nexus of heaven and earth,
this rising.