Upon Hearing that “Bread is the Way Sun Enters Our Body”

Upon Hearing that “Bread is the Way Sun Enters Our Body” by Dennis Camire

I feel this need to knead on my knees

    And praise the daily “tran-sun-stantiation”

Of sun into whole grain calories via

         T he Holy ghost of yeast. And kudos

To pepperoni pizza dough now morphing

              Into these acned teens of Helios

While the bread sticks become nothing-less

       T han batons of this God-force handed off

To hungry loved ones so, in mere contemplation

             Of a “single grain of whole wheat,”

T hey might finally cross the

              Finishing line into the divine!

Oh yes, bless the shamans of our bakers

          Keeping those stone oven temples’ fired

To coax golden Goddesses inside honey wheat

    To continue illumining the skyline of every slice!

And after we caffeinate conversations

         By singing how each sweet portly, pastry

“Is just sun made up in so much make-up”—

    Or by declaring “the solar flare of each éclair”—

                       

Or by shimmying in kind to “the northern lights’

           Cosmic cursive espied in the marbled rye”—

Consider, finally, the sourdough’s soul’s

               Own second rising when musing

How that same sun beams through

           T he doughy body’s own celestial abode

So our neurons feel the same heat

            As those distant rings of Neptune do—

And our membranes glow for the same reason

           As any of the solar system’s marvelous moons—

And sun, bread, and body s are now just one

              String-laden cosmos-in-expansion—

Heeding us, surely, to feel the vitamin d of delight

            As her hand, say, alights and tans your thigh—

Or to know the solar radiation of a soul

          So freely giving love over to your blue being—

Which fathoms, now, how that sacred moment

             Of silence before breaking open the loaf

Is heightened by looking into one another’s eyes

             And recognizing all the sunshine in disguise.

 

From Combed by Crows, poems by Dennis Camire

 

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What I would Give Up

What I Would Give Up

I would give up all the words in the world
but not words that open doors
to unknown rooms.
I would give up all the rooms in the world
but not this room
where I heard music for the first time.
I would give up all the music in the world
but not this music that holds all the light
I have ever seen and all the light I have not.
I would give up all the light in the world
but not this light that makes me reach
for a pencil to write words.

 

by Joan I. Siegel from Archaeology, Deerbrook Editions 2017