a real manna morning
the sky with its flocking of thin high clouds
an acoustic ceiling of clouds
this reminds me of manna
I imagined manna very specifically
Little heaps of sugary, flaky dough-like product
Sweet to taste, seemingly lightweight but quite filling
Remember you couldn't save it, it'd spoil
Just imagine Sholom secreting some in a little basket
Later, after moonrise, by the light of a taper, he looks inside
A horrid curdled smell wafts
Like dried angel saliva
Brilliant pearly-white somethings undulating in there
With a cry he hurls the basket outside
And tiny winged creatures return to the heavens