There's part of us that's like an itch
Call it the animal soul, a foolishness
That when we're in it, we make
Hundreds of others around us itchy

And there is an intelligent soul
With another desire, more like sweet basil
Or the feel of a breeze

Listen and be thankful even for scolding
That comes from the intelligent soul
It flows out close to where you flowed out

But that itchiness wants to put food
In our mouths that will make us sick

Feverish with the aftertaste of kissing
A donkey's rump. It's like blackening your robe
Against a kettle without being anywhere
Near a table of companionship

The truth of a being human is an empty table
Made of soul-intelligence

Gradually reduce what you give your animal soul
The bread that after all overflows from sunlight