KNEADING DOUGH
Kneading dough is feeling the wind
that makes a field surge like the sea.
Is walking along a shore that is washed
by breakers, unceasingly. A breath
of something that’s larger than life.
Kneading dough is taking nature
in one’s own hands, the soft and the supple
that blends and starts to stiffen. A force
that requires a fist brought down hard. From time
to time the world needs turning inside out.
Kneading dough is creating
a globe that rotates inside a blue drum,
as in a subway where heads bob
around and bodies collide. All must touch
everything else for the dough to cohere.
Kneading dough is snatching
a piece of life from god’s finger,
and feeling how happiness, fear
and the awful second the world stands still
give rise to a hope of a scent after death.
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