chocolate ganache 
& other ways to make a planet.

god owns the house 
at the end of the street
your always drove down
but never stopped at.
he leaves his windows open 
in april even when the morning
is cold. he wipes the dew from
the windowsill & turns on
his oven early in the
morning before we're all awake.
god's days have
five extra hours.
he spends the time before
morning getting ready for us
to wake up-- layers 
the horizon in the folds
of filo dough--
brushes the croissants 
with lye & watches
them blush in the oven--
in his spare time--
when there are bagels in
the oven or maybe
a blue berry crumb cake 
slowly rising on the counter--
he takes to his favorite hobby.
our god is a chocolatier--
rolling planets out of
the giant
bowl of ganache sitting
in his lap--
pours the terrestrial surface in 
a drapery of white
chocolate--
paints on the oceans with
a cue-tip of rich cacao--
when he is finished he lets
them dry in the freezer--
a line of planets waiting
to find a place 
next to a hand full of stars.
the earth wakes up again.
the oven chimes--
pouring the smell 
of banana nut muffins 
into the streets--
you open your window & wonder 
again who is baking--
wipe the dew from your windowsill--
smell the flake of strudel 
mixing with the melting
of white icing on the 
face of a danish--
there is something
unnaturally sweet
about the smell of the 
first instance of
morning-- you swear your
hear a humming
but you assume it is only
the low swaying of a tree branch--
the creek of a telephone poll.
up the way god pulls the planets
out of the freezer--
delicately between his two 
fingers he pick out his favorites
and rolls them like
dice into the night sky--
bites down 
on the surface of one of the
truffles--
chocolate melting on his
warm fingers-- he
chews a world as fast
as he rolled it into being--
wipes his hand
on the arm of his red sofa--
flicks on the television--
he has a channel for each of
us & a remote 
so infinite a human 
cannot conceive it-- watches
you & your windowsill
& nibbles on the edge of a danish.