Wednesday, March 17, 2010

Not on Bread Alone

Warm worms are we, with eager ears,
willing to wallow in Thee.
If You would, I wish to study the stars
made and parading from Thy moist mouth.
I’d glad grasp the gift of eye to see Thee;
happy be to heed heart-hammers
forging fervor. O God, give to me
Thy promises of pain and plenty, snap and smile,

of red frogs to run from and bumbles to be stung by,
of orange fruits off fragrant trees and tiny apples,
of sons to dance and daughters wild for daily supping.
I want to watch You yell, and feast
on the fruit of Thy larynx, my Lord.