I am the dough afraid to touch the yeast
terrified of rising.
Too deeply in love with the liquid possibility of becoming
a bun, a boule, a baguette, a bagel, a cake
I hold more seeds in my palms than I can ever plant
and yet
in my mind, they have already bloomed
There is a circle of light on my floor
cast from a source I cannot trace
A blanket, my hands, a heavy chair
nothing can smother it, nothing can dismantle it
The light does not bend
it only alters whatever object it lands upon
And that is how I want to live
Unfiltered. Indelible.
Not changing for the room
but changing the room itself