Bread

for Wendell Berry Each face in the street is a slice of bread wandering on searching somewhere in the light the true hunger appears to be passing them by they clutch have they forgotten the pale caves they dreamed of hiding in their own caves full of the waiting of their footprints hung with the hollow marks of their groping full of their sleep and their hiding have they forgotten the ragged tunnels they dreamed of following in out of the light to hear step after step the heart of bread to be sustained by its dark breath and emerge to find themselves alone before a wheat field raising its radiance to the moon