The Overwhelm of Levain ~ Sweet Suppositions

I baked bread yesterday and somehow, there’s this overwhelm that lays siege to the psyche, each time I take a bread out of the oven. Here’s a poem, lest the sentiment asphyxiate my heart in a thorough drowning.

Oregano and fresh rosemary that overwintered
Nigella seeds and fennel; there’s something about fennel …
Knead tenderness into dough, it flowers into syllables. The poetry asphyxiates in fragrance, traps bubbled overwhelm in gluten / That sprig of rosemary splinters in the diacritic perched atop a sigh, a heaving feeling, imagining consonants battling vowels in levain / She feels but it's the loaf that inhales a floating sentiment, capacious swallow of thrusting rage, pumelling plasticine dough into a planet. Bread swells to Jupiter inside of a Dutch oven made in China, but the ire is from elsewhere /
The crust is super; baked inside a Dutch oven within an oven
I have finally managed the trick to scoring !
And beauty must reside in sweet suppositions, those illusory aphorisms at dusk when light threatens to drown itself at the horizon, then stars write themselves on crust / shaped in seeds of onion or fennel, dead stars, blinking demon stars, red dwarves but she never used mustard / She wove a clove into the design, a magical charm of garlic to ward off vampires that thrill her / when the rigor sets into the molten of bake, she can't shake off the tunnelling of crumb that reverberates in the sighs of poetry she hears within her cloistered heart //

Neptune’s mists

This poem was seeded a while earlier, it was the earthworms on the garden path that inspired it, having crawled out of the waterlogged grass. It had rained prior and they placed themselves in harm’s way,  a sign we would  interpret as foolish (given the worm carcasses all over) and they would consider survival, crossing those great divides between the edges of a winding path.

Seasonal exhalation of Neptune's mists / and hazy corruptions mar a loamy sequester / A twelfth house of sorrow / those sinuous burrows permeating clay thought / tortuous tunnelling  of annelid aspirations // 

Earth swallowed rain / spiriting a life vitality from the blanketing comfort of flooded blossoms / Engraved on a path by the trample of feet, massacre of an exodus / Martyrs to tyrants /  clearly, mist is love or hate or mishap //

Compassion buoys pensive thought or a floating reflection / There are puddles of clumped rain, streaks of blemished sun / Blossoms and buds / These euphemisms of Spring, but trees in a mating game / Summer will bring tender warmth to soft mud, clear dreams and sweet healing //