i. it began and ended with a floured swerve
the cleansing curvature of the bleeding brink,
while, tasteful in its necessary spring of pink,
delivered, still, a heave to knead our breathy loaf:
it was the beginning, and the end, of the white bell curve.
ii. sometimes the snowy drifts require packaged yeast
after the bursting cloud of moths had fluttered clear
and since nothing sings like the diaphanous warm of near
we murmured into the rhapsodic blurs of a sapphire sleep:
unpredictable pudding, so clever, makes a scarlet feast.
iii. in the end, it's all about the slice that's prized
the learned courtesy of beige paranoia left no lasting score,
but, happily, swelled the dusted board with a crimson floor
and a draped sunset of nascent pearls that, rising, pleased:
a bread delayed is a bread denied.