Soup of the Day

for Writer's Cramp

A chef turns the dial to medium high
opens wide a high window
snatches a piece of the breeze
catches a quarter cup of fog
& grabs a pot to start the soup.

Turning, she puts them to the heat
glimpses a quick concern to add
(tempers it with sly anticipation)
mixes well, folds in a piece of time,
& decides on a draft of divinity.

She lifts the lid to smell her stew
takes up a silver spoon to taste
decides it needs some please
plucks a quick sprig of sonata
& whisks in a generous jigger of joy

I order the soup of the day
(understanding not of its creation)
blow across the steaming surface,
lift the spoon to my waiting lips,
& drink in its delicious mystery.