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