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





