Kouign Amann

and/or Maghrebi. But it’s Breton, as I can swear

by the blue hydrangea like a cloudy iris

I photographed near Finistère.

And now I’m here in Croton-on-Hudson

trying to remember what was sinister

about the asymmetrical cruets,

swan and cygnet, I thought I heard

duet. (But do swans vocalize?

Strengthening the pair-bond

while their two pasts together caramelize

the present?) Sinister like Croton’s

name, derived either from a Kitchawanc chief

or Calabria, source of stonemasons

for the dam. The former translates as

“Big Wind,” the second is known

as the birthplace of the school of Pythagoras.

Sinister not knowing if silent esoterics filter

down to our little dam, dreamt of under

sweet sweet down duvets. Bretagne’s off-kilter

menhirs call to our bric-a-brac rock

like names orphaned after the glaciers’ retreat

from Briquebec to Wequetequock.