Communion

Take me to where the tour bus is parked

And share your three day old bread.

 

I don’t care that the bus is empty

And that the seats are dusty and torn.

 

The sun can’t claw through the grimy

Windows.  The heat is only an incentive.

 

While we bake in the shadows, Argentina

Breaks through a sudden frost, tangos

 

Budding like flowers through late freezes.

Hundreds of miles away and within,

 

We will break bread.  California is soaked

And Texas swept by cool winds.  Our hands

 

Simply tour our chins and collar bones,

The crumbs on our pants.  Thirst imminent.  

Author's Note

image from http://aquanina.deviantart.com/art/Bread-Charm-57331723

Reviews

[shel]

While we bake in the shadows, Argentina
Breaks through a sudden frost, tangos
Budding like flowers through late freezes.

so much of what you write suggests deeper layers. consider that one of my *many* (tiresome but legitimate) excuses for taking so long to comment on anything. you've created a kind of sanctuary with this one...'tangos budding like flowers', for whatever reason, feels both distant and close. that's not a criticism at all, it's just how i pictured it in my head reading this. like it could just as easily be happening right outside the bus windows, and it wouldn't matter.