pa amb tomàquet a perfectly constructed crust is halved and sliced soft, slender, rustic cracked of Catalan wisdom toasted under the Barcelona sun oiled with the green, fresh garlic august, pungent rubbed into the empty yeasted pores the sharp crumb, boar tusks, peaks of wheaten teeth grate ample tomatoes ripe from the thirsty vine sweet,…
Saturday Morning
We wake to a photon of early light pushing its nose through the curtains upon a crusted eye, upon a dusted dream spooned into the smallness of each other our bigness binds, blooms in nuzzled sniff until our bodies awake us to directions divided, we prepare our church for ritual, emptying the nocturnal holding tanks,…