Feasting Among Stones

My soul hungers for change but is kept unfed
in a no man's land, with no man's hope for any reprieve,
where life is reduced to a single season of simmering despair.

I am hunkered, distraught,
beneath the pallor of yet another fruitless day.
All about me a famine of well worn stones:
markers of failed obligations and abandoned dreams.

The snap of a stray, flowerless twig
startles me from my sure decline.
Suddenly you are there, swathed in an azure glow,
glory against my brokenness.
Your wordless, compelling gaze draws mine
deep into the pools of your unearthly blue.

At once I am engulfed in the headiness of
apple blossom from a garden long forgotten;
but a stinging trace also of clove and myrrh -
just enough to arrest thought, and plague my heart.

I worry my stones, no longer in distraction, only in shame.
I pale as you gather one up into the hollow of prayer-worn palms,
and break this rock of my affliction.
You place half into my hands
and I find hot, fresh bread
steaming sweetness into the cold dead air.

As I swallowed the fragrant dough,
for the first time in an eternity,
I am filled.