Because I still have an oven, I can bake bread and knock on the crust:
a hostage might answer.
Because yeast is alive for a short time,
embroider my name in your handmade world.
Oh long reams of sheets on the ironing board,
I give you my full attention.
I give you Simone Weil and Malebranche:
attentiveness the soul’s natural prayer
Is prayer. Pray, pray. With feet. With flowers, sticks.
With undone lips, with murmuring surf.