Interlude


In life,
one pair of hands kneads the dough
in a well lit kitchen
It wants to become pizza, having rested
so lazily in the darkness.
not twenty feet away, a young woman
sits not really contemplating her
paperback, but holding it up
anyway as a shield
against the world.
Her slice is cooling on the paper plate
in front of her.
She watches the reflection
in the glass of a window,
He tossess the dough a whirling
galaxy expanding.
Deftly he catches it and sends it away
and her mind catches on delightedly
Alone, watching, but unwatched,
she has a box seat
to a private show.