First the garlic in shimmering oil, thenthe sweet onion,the alchemy of browning,to feed, to sustain.
Then the act itself,consumption. The guestsstretch their legs and talkof inconsequential pleasures.
They walk the cracking path.The cicadas make a counterpointto the low music of the moon.
The guests return for whiskey,water, cake. Once the old rites are finished,the question floats in the air likethe scent of spring beginning: what now?
An old man flips a coin through his knuckles.A child begs: teach me, teach me.
Teach me, what is it to love the unholding center, teach me,what is it to lay tradition's head gentle in your lap?
The recipe always ends to taste.