kitchen on the moon i walk to the edge of my yearning. break bread into smaller & smaller castles. barefoot as an astronaut, following a highway made of ginger. o moon, will you give me a refrigerator full? eggs spinning with thoughts of feathers. i woke up once in a nest. mars red through tree branches. why do i always try to get far away from myself to feast? to rest? as if there might be a place i could go where my body would unpuzzle itself. blood like a velvet tide. i eat standing at the counter by the spigot & cutting board. i leave crumbs.