It’s early morning I can glance.

     The tables dry and clean

And just two newspapers

     Lie at the counter

Barely unfurled by any intellect’s

     Grasp

In my thoughts

     This cafe is old memory.

I’ve seen the sunlight

     Break through polished glass

So many times before.

     See, I sit down here

Pull out my book

      And shifting in my chair

Jolt a hot coffee

      Soiling my pages again.

Wiping the spill silently

       I feign ignorance of those around,

And breathing I try again to see

       Wishing that she might be near.

 

1993