The Cook May Go Home

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)