Morning Cappuccino



Turning pages of
John Singer Sergent,
clarity of beings oiled
in time with unusual
clarity, wrought deftly.

Body and face angles and planes,
eyes alight or extinguished
arm and neck postured from
lives reflected in these hydrocarbon
conveyances, pasts captured.

Natural light stained on cherry
leaves where cappuccino waits.
Turning pages, each flooding one's
inner sight, softening the temporal
cup brushing lips; rich taste explosion

pulled into now by the difference
of the two. The eye opens
a first page in the minds book, the
tongue opens the body to now.
Sun's stripes on fingers and china.


gf 95