Morning Coffee
The thought my words might slip in
in the morning, along with coffee
and the sun, warms me.
There is no way to know, of course,
if you will add sugar to make them palettable,
or if you will brighten them with the milky love of a mother in the grass,
or if you prefer them dark, earthy,
insistent and incomplete without your sip,
their richness meaningless
until savored upon your tongue.
I dare not hope these roasted thoughts will wake you,
nor that they will paint your kitchen with lines of golden light,
but if you take them in I hope
they will last all day and outshine the night.
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