Sunday Sacraments
On Sunday the black husk splits
And pours its red grain in the Plaza
While Eduardo perches on the horn of a wave-break
And eats mussels.
He inserts the knife into exhausted mouths
And pries the tongues,
He eats bread
And dry crumbs break from his lips.
Beyond him the sea is creased
Like the back of a hand.
Knuckles flatten on the rail of the Plaza
And mordant fingers tighten.
Page(s) 46
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