breakfast art

when the toast
comes out, hot
and browned, almost
too hot to touch,
but you manage
to get it to a plate,
and then a soft pad
of butter, a swab
of blueberry jam,
and you let it sit
in this morning
sunlight, framed
in shadow, like a
picture, not a
rembrandt of course,
or even a warhol,
but something else,
something that resides
within you, that is
just as good and
wonderful.