We witness the world <br />rolling around the moon - <br />for there is no real sun <br />after all, only heat <br />to warm the pen, <br />watching not <br />the lifeguard saving <br />children, but the specks <br />of fragility teeming <br />in tidepools <br />stranded <br />after the surge. <br /> <br />In the crumbs <br />of the feast, <br />there is food <br />for thought. We spy, <br />noses pressed steaming <br />to the pane, <br />drinking the aroma, <br />ravenous, <br />though not quite hungry <br />enough to stretch <br />a pointed finger <br />to the bell.<br /><br />Lori Boulard<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/poets-gathering-the-crumbs/
