Red, clay cloche

quiescent cloche
red and clay

hot at night
cold by day

signs of use
residue

fingerprints
cover you

when coming down from the shelf
in search of dough to feel yourself

I love to watch you come alive
baking bread is where we thrive

you are brittle, I am strong
I've been gentle for so long

but all that's left is dying yeast
there's no more flour for the feast

we've made a lot of sourdays
now baker and cloche part ways