The manna rained from the sky and ate us.

It poured on the smoke after our burning

and it dusted the desert sands with our crusts.

You bit our lips if we spoke of yearning.

Your left knuckles like arrows grazed our teeth;

through your right poured the smoke from our burning.

The sand wore our ashes like marrow wreaths.

You saved your palm for some other world

while your knuckles, like arrows, razed our teeth.

We woke from the dream where our prayers unfurled,

cut from the mirage of Plenty or Often.

You’ve saved your balm for another world.

Comets flaked and faded; our moonrock softened,

and these dusted the desert sands with their rust.

Black holes made bread and fish of our coffins;

from the skies manna rained and it ate us.