To cook is to be in love.
You remember biting
into a fresh plum, like the first
youthful kiss of summer. You recall
that as you accentuate the flavors
and carefully slice the same
sort of plum, in the same way
you would caress the lover
who gave you that kiss
so long ago. There is no end
to the permutations
of such a passionately
begun artifice

I’m happy with what we did,
with what we had
and to be perfectly selfish
my favorite moment
was last night
walking up to Monsignor
in my robes to ask his blessing,
processing to the Pulpit
and chanting the Exsultet
it was like flying