I wish you a cloudy morning

I think ahead to your journey into the sunrise. . .
I wish you a cloudy morning. . .
sweet curtains of mist riveted
to the smooth steel grey waters

they roll between the rosy fingers of morning
dipping into the wine dark sea
like the wing tip of a gull
turning above the water
splashing ever so slightly past the surface
like a sail sliding cross a piece of sky
whose droplets hold the last innumerable jewels of night

let us pick one of those, to adorn our love
even as the gaze of morning
forgets the existence of stars

Tea Cups

It's the difference between catching a falling tea cup

and serving a hot cup of tea to a distant table. 

The tea cup isn't easily captured

Its tumble is rapid asymmetry

the handle is a bewildered toddler

equally amazed at it's first frantic steps

as the cold smack of floor on its bottom

a catcher may only sip the intensity for a moment

As opposed to the the long steady burn

in your fingered fore arms

holding the little footprint of a saucer

gazing steadily on a tiny ocean 

of tea and tidal movements

a song of urgently wringing china

as the subway passes your first tiny apartment

in the shadow of the M train

I suppose they are the same life 

lived in different phases