Grant, Lord, that I should know the taste of what you tasted

On the sense of the incarnate Word

Grant, Lord, that I should know
the taste of what you tasted.

Milk, first, mild and warm,
from the mother’s breast.

Later bread and roasted flesh,
with herbs and varied fruit.

Wine, of course, much wine,
and water with its freshness.

What else: dirt, dust, sweat;
the world’s daily grime.

Blood also from your brow
and nose and mouth — blood!

Vinegar with hyssop last,
so sickly sour, stinging.

(And death — has it a flavor?
It has a flavor, sure.)

All this, God, you tasted,
on my behalf, on mine.

For which I thank you.