a hot croissant
fresh from the toaster oven
slightly greasy
with a smear of butter
and a blob of blueberry jam
small still life for a saturday morning
while seismic things
happened elsewhere
down the telephone wires
along synapses
through the soul’s sensors
to the true mind of the heart
our lives changed
in places we could not see
because we could not see
all that was visible was this croissant
that remained half-eaten on the plate
half a life, still