adventures in dysthymia

Tuesday, May 11, 2004

Kneads

No machine for me:
I must feel the bread
in my hands, close
my eyes and caress it,
make love with just
the right force
and the right tenderness.
And yes, I need to knead
with the yeast of four hours
rising, the sweet essence,
rising about me, a promise
of the feast to come
as the kitchen cools,
later. I do not count
the minutes, do not
watch the clock, only
feel when the time is right
to let go, to let rest.

Stephen Brooke ©2004

Yeah, this is bread baking day at Steve's place

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