Maple butter syrup splits on buttermilk pancakes Sunday’s pinch of magic formed tradition it happened as it did each time I’d tie my thick brown hair back hands ready with fork and knife hovering... that first cut - oozing, sticky core and I'd devour the fluff a flash of light on canines complete. Some nights, a full moon I have them for dinner as dessert you call it nonsense and I make them, grumpy you oblige, eat them still I chuckled inward in the deepest layer right in the middle of that stack are air bubbles I've held on to that cushion of air
Layered Fragments, Becoming Whole 