Tea

My breath skates

Across the glass,

Golden scales push-off

In electric bright

Rifles at dawn.

I sip the flowers.

They flesh

In a way I see

When deposed of you,

Carefully.

Now is the time for silence

Of recognition—

The wintering observation.

I am a centring figure

Bright to catch.

The lit wick of you

Sleeps in another country.

I look at the glass,

Watch a flower unfurl

And darkly lit, I fall.