Each face in the street is a slice of bread

wandering on

searching

somewhere in the light the true hunger

appears to be passing them by

they clutch

have they forgotten the pale caves

they dreamed of hiding in

their own caves

full of the waiting of their footprints

hung with the hollow marks of their groping

full of their sleep and their hiding

have they forgotten the ragged tunnels

they dreamed of following in out of the light

to hear step after step

the heart of bread

to be sustained by its dark breath

and emerge

to find themselves alone

before a wheat field

raising its radiance to the moon