Sweet

All I want to do is bake.
Great heaping mounds of cookies
and pies and tiny cakes iced and double-iced
with warm ganache. Loaves that thunk
when tapped, impossibly tiny tartes with berries
and apples and plums and peaches (not all in
the same tarte). Generous sheet-pans
of almond-studded toffee, heavenly divinity,
pumpkin bread and date bread with walnuts
and lemon cakes and marshmallows speckled
with vanilla bean specks and candied orange rinds.
Bake bake bake.

But who will buy?

I need a bakery, a patisserie, again.

It's time.