Coffee; cobbles; Cabot, poised;
the glist’ning noon’s reflection;
a moss-green ring b’yond Pero’s bridge –
’tis here we float, complex. Shunned’s
the riv’ring course of coursing time,
that, indiff’rent, doth crash
incessantly yet forceless, spilling
future o’er the past.
Notebook completed; page un-blanked;
th’caress of wind-soothed heat –
just as my coffee only cools
shall we e’er only meet
the foll’wing page, tomorrow’s dawn,
midnight to Auld Lang Syne…
Nevertheless, we’ll dance our flame-lit
lives in the meantime.
william altoft 