Crumbs

I keep collecting crumbs -
They really are the crusts of Love
But hey, they're all I have.
Some of them have been dipped
Green in mould, some really
Put the crumb in breadcrumb,
Some stale and some sink into the
Creases of my brown paper bag,
But I won't get rid of them.
They're all I have.

I'll know the morning when it comes,
The sun breaking through my window
Will whisper
When it's time to scatter them,
Throw them to the high winds and
Feed the birds
Spread the word
Flap the beat of the chant
Pulsing through the sky
Spray the broken atoms of
A Thing-Like-Love
And voodoo-like, it will take
The pins out of my heart.