Crumbs

Starved.

But They can provide... til we’re bloated

if by nothing but crumbs.

As if bountiful,

as though gifted.

We are fed.

A so-called harvest along hallowed trails.

Where we pray,

Ease the hunger.

Fruitful,

one would think.

Til worn from wander,

then flooded by wonder.

Leaves us trudging,

if only for swollen morsels.

And yet still starving.