The crumb of bread

Poetry, Uncategorized

The bread that I made

morsel after morsel missed your mouth

and so all this kneading and knifing

came to this crumb in the mud trodden garden.

The wheat that grew

the yeast that rose

the days and days spent

like silver coins that tremble in your pocket

grains and grains from the silo to the mill

fall to this sparrow to eat

all beak and instinct

combing and combing through the world for edibles

and our crumb turns to wingbeats

wind in the trees and dust-throwing breeze.

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One thought on “The crumb of bread

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