Early morning coffee,
and words that few understand.
A calm darkness winding
its way around the streets.
Where does the quite go?
Maybe into the hearts of the birds
and the trees all around us?
Or in the struggle of the smaller crafts,
as the masks of the world crack open.
From my window I look to the sky,
and echoes of earthly desires.
I sip my coffee to the joys
of love’s offerings, and another
Sunday morning.
A Wandering Poet 