23. Sep 2007
AUTUMN 07: Michelle Tackla
Upward climb
of each leaf, greener
than green.
They grow
behind the garage
without any tending.
Mint sprigs,
gifts from before.
I pluck the spring notes
for my hot water,
stir in sugar
and watch sweetness melt
giving itself,
like the day.
When you really look
inside this cup,
you find
there is no place.
We are everywhere
our minds roam,
and it carries us far.
Steam rises,
indigo robes wafting
in the evening air.
Blessed by ritual,
by desert dwellers
I never met,
I drink a holy
number.
I breathe.
With each sip,
I taste a new thought
between my lips.
© 2007 Michelle Tackla
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