A south wind blowing
stalls the migration and I
long for the Zephyr.

Host Meditation (Breadchewing)

Just a crumb in the food chain
the crust of the loaf
I heard of bread that’s forever
but can you make toast
from a slice of the life
that was broken for me
and is dipped in the vino
or dunked in the tea
that is bitter
and black
and imported from Spain
where the lovers of gold
are the mothers of shame
and if the dough is kneaded
by unclean hands
and the yeast is leavened
in man-made pans
then how is it living
in the alive sense of the word
unless one sees fit
to build a cottage for a curd.