on the stone back stoop, someone always leaves bread crumbs.
piled, a modest mountain, come thieves, eat bread crumbs.

not everyday, but often. naan & ciabatta.
an offering y platanos, being bread crumbs. 

the stale baguette was for the chickadee children 
& i met pigeons, they ask, who brought these bread crumbs?

i sit with the birds, i tell them about my love.
they heard rumors that humans live off of bread crumbs.

course we do, but i lied & said we eat meatloaf.
a bare stoop, where, broken down, there had been bread crumbs.

i wonder about you, where you make your bread crumbs
& why you leave them. visit me, let's be bread crumbs.