Broken Coffee Break
I stroll up to my favorite out-of-town coffee shop
and find it closed for good. Through the black glass,
a naked counter, stools scattered, space thrown open
to conjecture and rats, stillness, indifference.
I came here to sit in the shade of my deafness,
in the mingled business of being mortal, the push
on to the next moment, letter I meant to write
once each week for the past four months, knowing
I may not ever, even though the Asian Daisies
are blooming and the cool sheen of morning still
hangs in the air. What perishable milestones
we apprentices have for measuring anything.
Better to take the pulse of the sunlight falling
down over the mountains into the yards and alleys,
the Royal Palms and freeways, the perpetual
serpentine muscle of traffic sliding over the hills
into one’s own arroyo or canyon, place to pause
and collect, gather and climb back into
the ceaseless, moving and unmoving,
constant boa of motion. With fine gravelly
contractions of swallowing the delicate morsels
we make in the always and indescribable now.