Poetry About Craving

At midnight, I open the cupboard again. Nothing has changed among the cups and tins. The hunger I carry is not for bread. It has no flavor, measure, or clean name. I close the door and listen to the dark. Craving grows loudest where absence has an echo.

Look again from the quieter edge. Nothing has changed among the cups and tins. What seemed simple opens into history. It has no flavor, measure, or clean name. Attention loosens the first easy answer. Craving grows loudest where absence has an echo.

At midnight, I open the cupboard again. Hours pass, but the image does not leave. The hunger I carry is not for bread. It returns us to desire, appetite, absence, compulsion, restraint, and the body asking for more. I close the door and listen to the dark. The day continues with a more attentive heart.