Late Night Bread

Kneading
after the kids are asleep
and the day's tidy-up's done,

kneading
unresolved jobs and
disappointment into
positive dispersal of yeast through
dough,

kneading prayer,
kneading thought
of friend in need, kneading
the loss
of this or that hope,
kneading hope.

And pounding,
pounding heaven's door like a breadboard,
pounding grace into slack
and crumbling day,
pounding the gate
of coming kingdom,
pounding the weight of the season,
the wait of the harvest,
the slowness of leaven,
the tarrying rise.

And waiting.
Dough sits before the heater.
The day's done, and morning
will show what will rise,
what still waits.

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