Bethlehem Is

A recipe that begins with a birth and ends with a birth.
Jacob's twelve were lost between mouthfuls
of manna. Poetry is wandering in the desert for 40 long years
all the while worrying, "What should we do?"
And, "To whom shall we go?"

Until a great fish swallows you whole.

Tasting it is a delicate souffle
that might fall flat.
I gorge on loaves that fed thousands
and still feel the hunger of six million Jews
who longed for bread.

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