Dave Bonta's "Feast" turns a sunrise into a meal. The sky is "a great orange disorder on which to dine," so the speaker seems to be feeding on the morning itself, messy and glowing and a little overwhelming. Then the wine arrives, and with it a change: "Bottles of wine alter us." The tone shifts from wonder to something more raw. People pace, weep, and ache from sitting too long.
The ending is the most striking part. The kneeling is "not to the king," so this isn't about power or ceremony. Instead, the speaker kneels to eat bread from a poor boy's pocket. The image echoes communion, though the poem never says so directly. It suggests that the real feast is humble, shared, and given by someone with almost nothing. The mood is tender and quietly reverent, mixing celebration with grief, and finding something sacred in the plainest food.