Issue 14

What can match the flesh
of fresh baguettes when morning

bursts through the bakery door
and shadows roam the loaves?

At 6 am, every Paris roof’s rising.

In the hour when fragrance replaces
the most lethargic thought,

pores do for the dough what
bubbles did for champagne.

You say you’re done with hunger and gain;
you’re finished wielding the knife.

How will you spread the butter?