when your thoughts get rounded off,

gathering down the slope to the open plateau,
sketches get
relegated to a collection.

Each one appears then fades
-as sounds of thunder dwindles to nothing-

leaving barely enough to fill a bowl.

Maybe the scratched
glass bowl the color of cinnamon,
that you use to mix tuna and mayonnaise
-but without sweet pickles
it is not a salad-

or the majestic porcelain one –
the best bowl to mix flour, water, and yeast.
Cover with a cloth
and let the dough rise -twice its size –
on the stove counter,

or the one
fashioned
from wires
– it holds the apples and oranges,
and keeps from bruising them, but doesn’t work
for tangerines – so you store them
in the original packaging.

Then the bowls you don’t use –
you flip them over in the cabinet-
that way they don’t get dusty inside,
and you can put the spare words
away in a basket
for the day
or in a drawer
with recipe cards,
paper clips, spare buttons
and old keys.