The lake is a glass dish
and the sky rests in it,
flushed and warm
like fresh-baked bread,
pillowy and dusted flour-white.
I lay back into it,
the hum in my ears
drowning out the static in my brain,
slowing my wayward heart
to stillness.
For here the bread is multiplied,
rising above as
the fish populate the depths below,
such small offerings
spilling over their bounds
into other worlds beyond my own,
and I would rest in it,
I would take and eat of it,
I would become one with it
if it meant the moment lasted longer,
if it meant the hungry
would walk away full.
(written live during Behind the Broken Season Ep. 8, based on a prompt from Daniel Emme)