Needing bread--
measure by measure
I place in a bowl of clay
water, for flux
flour, gift of the fecund earth
salt, from a sea of tears
and a dram of frothing yeast--
the genii that breathes the breath of life
into my bread.
Kneading bread--
in waltz time, to the rhythm of my breath
mashing, lifting and turning, folding--
until it springs to life in my hands
breathing on its own
needing no nerve or pulse to rise and form.
Heating bread--
the hungry oven swallows the swollen loaf
rise once more it tries
only to split and admit
the flavor of the flame.
Eating bread--
At last the sated oven spits its treasure--
singing softly, the loaf awaits my knife
and my pleasure--
needing bread.
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