The geese are eating kernels. Some
Make them wise. Some make them
Good. And the body of
The man of grief and lust and mayhem
Buried there bursts with seeds
And stalks of puff balls and elderberries.
Meanwhile, test yourself: the kit
That checks the state of your capillaries--
If your food is too refined,
They can shred, if too rich
And passionate, they might burst.
Did you ever wake up with perfect pitch,
A memory of a farm in Brooklyn,
A hidden lane in Queens? Each kernel
Cracks. The geese feed, each strand
Of love and wisdom is eternal.
Yaacov David Shulman