it is so hot it is a desert our shoes
        no longer burn
        our feet are naked in
        the temple of our poverty
        we kneel we are inflamed
        apotheosis of hands the milk
        of stars a divine gift we refuse
        obstinate in our hunger for an ardent
        language a piano a
        golden wing a
        piece of good bread please
        the profanity of saints fervently
        praying in an alarming
        dawn of snow-
        bitten cocks the absurd
        flesh of our need for honest
        food the prodigal desire the perverse
        form of an egg the blue
        immensity of sky.

Copyright © Erica Anzalone, 2001.  All Rights Reserved.