A Feast

The orphan smiles.
When he realizes that
he is only somewhat lonely:

Ants in droves make lines
across his feet,
leaving his legs spotted red -
It reminds him of kisses.
Muddy earth
soft, oozing
stench of many lives
caresses him, a mattress.
And the wailing of others
soothes his ear.

He sighs.

Across the fields is going
the wanderer.
Perhaps he is singing.

In the houses, people are touching
and bodies are warm.

Morning comes,
soft and damp.
Already the flies are buzzing
Hymns of praise and thanksgiving.