cunning no body removes

to spend one more
word across the page
to mouth over an echo
low to the ground, i
don't know, what is
the alley empty for
at the glowing hour,
what is the heart
empty for at the
hungry crosswalk, under
the significant
traffic light, why
learn one more phrase
why not beg with mute
desperate incantations
stooped over grits
stooped over oatmeal, lentils
over rice & beans
quietly masticating the
soil, in to soul, where
are the stories, the words-
where is the container for
the legumes, the seeds
that stalk up
the mist, and raise
new squash, spent in each
hope, the house of faith,
the body speaking writes
out the menu of the day
the earth made conscious
the bean, the knee, oneiric
& holy.