E.D. ascend for me always, <br />Without end, in your kitchen <br />Suddenly frozen in mid-knead, <br />Leave your dough to rise, <br />Toss your apron aside, <br />Wipe the flour from your hands, <br />Float upstairs <br />With a fire in your head and <br />Lock your bedroom door. <br /> <br />E.D. descend for me always, <br />Without end, in white, slowly <br />Slowly down the curved staircase, <br />Glowing and soundless around <br />The bend and soundless on <br />To the kitchen again <br />To serve me always, <br />Without end, generous portions <br />Of your fresh bread, your fire <br />And possibility.<br /><br />Francis Santaquilani<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/e-d/
