What is exile? What

is home? Rumpled bright city,

stacked newspapers, parched earth blossoming reeds.

This morning I learned how they found bread in the wilderness.

It will take effort; it will take prayer.
What is the difference between hidden and despair?

Hidden rouses
effort, a search: passing hands over white-brown stone, stumble

into stores: silver trays, stacked books, men
in black coats, posters with torn

Hebrew letters. Despair
appears like a sudden wall;
no longing.
It will take effort; it will take prayer.

They measured the bread, brought it home
to their families, ate in silence with sun-burnt hands.

What is exile? What is a homeland?

The streets are full of dust and light, stone.
Yesterday I searched. Today I stare.
It will take effort; it will take prayer.

The field’s leftover bread melted into rivers.
The animals are drinking its fir-scent.