My eyes burn with sage
harsh, misty, and verdant
The chalk-white smoke curls
around my lashes, collecting
pooling into dew drops, falling
gently into the voice below
I hear the call of my rusted gut
aching with hunger and fear
“Just a bite,” it says with a
bulge of regret, pushing
against my clammy shirt
…my appetite is alive
Lunch
by Luis Paredes