Bread Rising

The bread is simply rising

With the seasoning

Of February breeze

Water dripping from the trees

Puddles forming on the floor

Asphalt cracking up it’s lore

Waiting to be filled in

The bread is rising all

The time is churning

Smelling senses ease

The table resting keys

A silent sleeping snore

Dreams I can’t ignore

Opens up my skin

Of bread that still is rising

With voices

Ever growing thin

Hear them flocking from the din

To memories they have become

To what, I cannot place my thumb

I fill my skin with them