Soft wheat, split top, bun turned into a hard clamshell— every single one traced with yeast's signature. Humid weather that stirs up clouds of steam in this dented cauldron, then pellets of ice. Last night, loud hissing in the yard; and in the morning, deep gashes in the soil. What kind of offering can we push out on the water like light on a little boat? Flower leis, grain-filled reed thimbles; seed, husk. Any transparency that can hold a flickering.
Purveyors of fine poetry since 2003.
