Time in his kitchen chops and sprinkles dates,
blends past with present, folds in what's to come.
See flints and forests and tectonic plates
deform like pastry underneath his thumb!
His recipes are altered every day:
African warthog, bird of paradise ...
Though nothing's lost and nothing's thrown away,
he never serves the same confection twice.
Spiced for the oven, spaced out row on row,
gingerbread man can't contemplate defeat.
Spread limbs protesting, mouth an open O
(the picture flawed, the puzzle incomplete,
the seed unspent, the work not finished yet)
he cries for time. And Time is what he'll get.
© Brian Fewster,
Published in Envoi 140, Spring 2005
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