We go through the days, their
cracked bowls and coffee cups,
parades of them from table to sink
to cupboard and back again. We eat
the bread before it grows stale,
we peel and slice the precious fruit
before it blackens, rots, or turns
to mush. Forgive our little economies,
our hard to break habits from living
so long without. We want to see
that day bereft of suffering,
a night spangled with the bearable
light of stars, no longer made
long by sacrifice or sorrow.
Purveyors of fine poetry since 2003.