The Spoon's Reflection

When eating, but, saving soup
for someone, take all the celery bits,
leave the carrot smiles.

The sun, warming your neck
at table as much sustenance
as the empty spoon's reflection.

Lunch is never lost on me,
whatever pages I set down to swallow
wait like a guest for refills.

If the day broke here,
like bread contented,
there'd be time for lessons, dancing.

In defiance, I nap,
Scripture open on my belly,
every Word that proceeds…

The best work of our hands,
folded.

Like a napkin.