Triumvirate

triumvirate curling from
the wall with
Monica thrown in
for good measure

the kitchen gods who
oversee the tines
breaking through egg-yolks
after the whites were
finger-strained, separated

searing flames, this
molten centre, carrying forth
burnt offerings on
crackled Limoge, the

flowers are
so delicate

when all are asleep
the crickets sing to her
in the deep dark
punctuated by fireflies