A piece of

Warm, sweet, delicious,
an inviting smell.
Intrigued, enticed, compelled,
sniffing and tracing
like a gazelle.

Croissant, chiffon cake or sourdough?
Inside the open wooden door,
shelves present neatly:
Fruity, buttery, savoury,
firm, soft, crispy.
Rich are the treats,
row after row.

Artisanal craft,
honest efforts,
patient practice,
a painstaking process.
Carefully condensed,
then joyfully consumed—
a brief encounter,
yet nourishing.

The transience settles in
like every little thing.
Back to my place,
in the tiny space
shelves of books, also on display:
covers comely,
authors esteemed,
ideas fermented,
ambitions maverick.
Words, thoughts, rhetoric,
less ordinary,
more promises,
yet are the pages as fulfilling
as a piece of bread is?

Image: Still Life With Books, Mirrors, and Lenses II by Ephraim Rubenstein