for a morsel of life

sometime ago
I wrote a poem
on hunger,
the hunger I knew -
the hunger of eyes
always searching
for something
among cracks,
the hunger of hearts
yawning and closing
to be filled
and emptied,
the hunger of skin
baring itself
to be stroked
to its sensibility,
and the hunger of spirit
smitten by a delirium
of la la land,

until I came upon
this hunger -
of hands
sold to the soul,
itching to work,
to feed stomachs
churning,
calling,
for a morsel of life
lived simply,
with grace,
and an impeccable devotion
to what gives,
to what is -
their lives.