33/365: wholly white

not content to be pasted to your fingers
the flour gets on your shirt
   in your hair
   behind the canisters
   in your ears

you go to wipe it from your lobes
and it says
by what right do you remove me from my home
where I have been since before time began

you shake your head in disbelief
but the flour makes its case:
you seem to think that you exist only for yourself
but you are part of a greater recipe
   part of the great loaf
   the great cake
   the great pasta
(what was it you were making?)

we are all baked at the holy temperature
(375 degrees, mid oven)
and come together as one dish

we should respect each other -
even if you lack a sufficiently powdery essence
to understand the sift the finer Truth.