prayers—bay leaves 

// broadly and professionally understood to be effective—
& no one can tell you what the real flavor is— 
just that it adds that certain something—
maybe roundness, diversity, harmony 

one weightless laurel—
chipped and rigid—
makes the vessel’s contents postable—
haunts saucy hot butter 

the result of its render—
mostly warm & well-received—
but plucked out before serving

the thing itself—
long-believed aromatic—
is not to be consumed 

you wouldn’t put your mouth over a spiced blade—

you would boil water & steep it, drink the tea //

Suit of White  

When they ask where the smile is, I say, “I’ll wear it when Johnny Cash wears white,” which is to say, “I’ll wear it when caged babies and plastic-ful whales are fully vested in the equity and respect you and I enjoy.”