The farmhouse is bracketed
by two loaves of fire;
in the night the house looks like the face
of Satan; the black void of the nose;
the house: vacant and shut off.

The two loaves burn beside it
through the night,
eating the stars and all the time
in the world.

A Tom and the thousand others
sleep in the foyer; closed off,
held in
by a tootsie roll the size
of a block of wood
used to keep the door closed
and the screaming
within.

Sometimes the cats slink out the windows
and make circles around the loaves;
silhouettes of fur, shoulders,
and contemplating tails
that swing and arc
through the night; it looks
like there are cats at the feast,
and they have brought the snakes
with them.