Nexus of Everything
Fresh biscuit crust flakes under fork,
crumbs melt on tongue like warm
butter. I sigh gratitude to foremothers
who over generations perfected
balance of flour, shortening, salt,
baking powder, and sour milk,
and with light hands turned dough
into round-cut sections of heaven.
I think there is a point to all of this—
bliss at complicated caloric intake,
awe at hand-me-down wisdom,
reverence at slant light that slides
through blinds on winter afternoons,
soar at rust-red sunset afterglow,
astonishment at eight billion scattered
pops of cognition dressed in flesh
and feelings, filled with ambitious vision.
We memorize milky smudge of stars
above. We leaf through fossil layers below.
Our slight souls savor Everest in ways
no mountain understands.
I am not being clear—I hesitate
too long over which words to add
to the mix. What I mean to say is that I think
there is a point to all of this—to delivering
a recipe for high oven rise and fine crumbs