St. Paul of Thebes (patron of the clothing industry and weavers)

you hold the slivers

of milky moons

between ruddy fingers

and bring the shining

crescents to your teeth

slip them onto the

pink bed of your tongue

as two lions

with paws as broad

as your shoulders

dig your grave

is that what it feels like

to live alone in the desert?

to eat the moon?

can you trace the years

of solitude in the

curls of your beard?