a loaf of lemon bread
cooling beneath
the dour gray that
wrested the skies
from shimmering light
the notes of citrus
wafting on the
perpetual breeze
from the ceiling fan
calling forth a
summer dream in this
dreary spring dismality

i lose myself in
the regiment of baking
when the words feel
stuck in my throat
unprepared to dislodge
acrid little morsels
infecting my mood
with a clustering set
of anxious achings

a pool of lemon glaze
solidifying across
the golden brown bread
a surrogate sun shining
to dispel the sense of
impending doom on a
sleepy saturday morning
where the only light
refracts itself into
a prismatic prison of
gray diffusion sapping
the ability to speak
in a cloud of prose
quietly suffocating the day