You step on the creaking pier.
Camera heavy in your hand.
Grey light paints the water here.
No prints remain on cold damp sand.
Salt in the dough you knead.
Ferry wakes and blows its steam.
Flour dust on copper skin.
Warmth blooms where the night begins.
Oven hums a low bass line.
Pizzicato on the rack.
Dough expands in perfect time.
No tourists here, no turning back.
Salt in the dough you knead.
Ferry wakes and blows its steam.
Flour dust on copper skin.
Warmth blooms where the night begins.
Water slaps the wooden piles.
Rhythm for your wooden spoon.
Scent of rye beneath the dawn.
Flour coats your jeans like frost.
Salt in the dough you knead.
Ferry wakes and blows its steam.
Flour dust on copper skin.
Warmth blooms where the night begins.
First commuter drops a coin.
Paper bag gets passed along.
Fingers brush, the moment shown.
Human warmth to greet the morn.
Salt in the dough you knead.
Ferry wakes and blows its steam.
Flour dust on copper skin.
Warmth blooms where the night begins.
Salt in the dough you knead.
Shutter clicks. The loaf is bred.
