edges of the inner sea

Kneading bread, pressing pliable mounds
folding and pressing more; veins swell
sinews ripple- fighting the cramp of fatigue
I have made too little

it is a simple thing to bring
yeast to flower, salt and soda
to thrive on sugars. The nascent loaf
swells from within as i roll and pat
then begin, kneading bread

thoughts roll in like sun drawn tides
pulled from distant edges of the inner sea
stormy turmoil and placid windless times
i see ''sturm und drang'- i see the painted ship
on a library wall, i see the albatross
and now the fingers sink deep and make folds
that will soon hold heat and shape
the essence of the loaves; kneading bread
i can heal,
forgive,
forget,
and i can slowly exhale
the pent up day