“Everything goes into me.” ~ Tomaž Šalamun
Curse and blessing, blessing
and curse: to want everything,
deplore the wanting, then plunge
a whole hand into the bowl anyway;
to eat like the world was ending,
which you know it will in time
but just not yet, and to feel
ashamed that you have shown
the size of the hunger in your gut—
And the birds in the nest open their mouths
and cry, and something comes through the mist
to soothe them: Who is it then
that will succor and feed
the one that is sent, the one called to serve;
the one that lies prone at the base of the tree,
dizzy with the ache of the unknown?
In response to Via Negativa: Mortality.