The last of the bread bakes silently in the oven,
as feelings stir warmly inside my heart
The smell and the aroma, an invitation to greatness,
as the temperature rises—announcing I’m done
Loaves cook in the silence of a sweeter deliverance,
letters rising as words, their meaning devours
The invitations to the meal have all been sent out,
and responded to
The cook may go home, the feast now leavened,
has begun
(Telluride Colorado: 10:00 p.m. Sheridan Hotel, May, 1996, rewritten August, 2011)
Nov 9, 2016
Nov 9, 2016 at 10:34 AM UTC
The last of the bread bakes silently in the oven,
as feelings stir warmly inside my heart
The smell and the aroma, an invitation to greatness,
as the temperature rises—announcing I’m done
Loaves cook in the silence of a sweeter deliverance,
letters rising as words, their meaning devours
The invitations to the meal have all been sent out,
and responded to
The cook may go home, the feast now leavened,
has begun
(Telluride Colorado: 10:00 p.m. Sheridan Hotel, May, 1996, rewritten August, 2011)
