closed

you peer with hands cupped
to the window,
looking in, disbelieving
in the sign that reads
closed. how could
this be. you've traveled
so far to get here.
but the lights are dark,
the door locked
despite your shaking it.
you can taste the bread
in your mouth,
smell the warmth of
the ovens, the cinnamon
and sugars, the dough
rising. who closes
the door on love, at
such a time, in such a
season as this.