into the all

when i tell you we can live on music and bread,

i mean i want to sit with you on the floor of a room. 

when i tell you we can live on music and bread,

i mean we feel. the poetry, the sound, and

those rhythms.

when i tell you we can read the rhythms to each other
over and around

i mean we will touch divine from the act of it,

from our spines pressed together back to back, and

in those half notes and broken chords we will

enter the all.

and when i tell you this is gratitude,
to those tiny children who, with fingers of rubies, made this music,

who picked through mud into opal dirt, who spun tears into wheat
gold for us and who kneaded this bread before sun came and

combined violins and axes, and who

made instruments into sustenance,

i mean we can live on music and bread.