The dishes clink softly
as we discuss the secrets of literature.
Darkness awakens, and the crickets
chant candlelight melodies beyond
the sliding glass door.

The hush of a million dreams
settles over the kitchen,
tempting our hope-filled eyes
with visions of new,
undiscovered flavors.

The gentle scraping of rags against dishes
lulls us into the belief
that we are immortal;
our secrets have no beginning and no end,
for they are not ours alone.

The hush of million years
sings in our minds,
suggesting that the dishes
must be scrubbed clean
of all wasteful thoughts.