Poetry is like bread
to me
these days
And I need it
in the pantry
close at hand
For there are storms howling
outside my window
bleaching the landscape
and
driving me inward
deeper into the
center rooms
and even the crazy quilt
isn't enough to
drown out the
loudness of my mind
so I reach for
bread
because it is all I can stomach
for now
and
it
is
enough
