Across the Place du Marché Ste-Catherine,
the light which frames a building that I see
daily, walking home from the bakery,
white voile in open windows, sudden green
and scarlet window-box geraniums
backlit in cloud-encouraged clarity
against the century-patinaed grey
is such a gift of the quotidian,
a benefice of sight and consciousness,
I sometimes stop, confused with gratitude,
not knowing what to thank or whom to bless,
break off an end of seven-grain baguette
as if my orchestrated senses could
confirm the day. It's fragrant. I eat it.

Confirm the day's fragrance: I eat, bit
by bit, the buttery pain aux raisins
...