all my breads – by king arthur, miller

soft, gentle, shy
the grey pastel
of the hour before daybreak –
rye.
colour creeps in
a quiet blue tint
so faint, it apologised.
its strength holds up half my starter
equals with wheat
but it soon drowns
in a tide of teig
of louder flours.
having bloomed, now fades
as the backdrop, unseen
as the foundation of
all my breads
since last july.
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