Simplicity

A ghost rises from a

Cup of coffee

Across the table

Where you

Sit.

Shadows hug the golden warmth

Of the sunlight licking

your skin;

Dust motes filtering through the

Air.

A basket before us.

“Baguette”, you say

Breaking the portion into two

Steam rising from the crevice.

The halves are gone

In a crackling of buttered fluff.

My turn:

Another piece of bread;

I turn it over in my hands.

“Ciabatta”

You nod. “Hmm.”

This time we dip our knives

Into a ruby red jam.

It catches the light

Glinting back at our knives

In a knowing wink.

Your turn:

The smell tells you

“Cumin”.

I make a slight face, but my half

Is gone as quickly as the previous

Two.

If I opened a book

The words might escape into the air

Following the aroma of coffee beans

Into the still-sleeping minds

Of those who come here

Hoping the sun might

Drown the words of the night before

And warm their faces

With the

Promise of a good coffee;

Nothing more

Nothing less.

“Sun-dried tomato?”

I watch you over the edge of my coffee cup

As you nibble absently on the crust

Slumped against the window.

Your mind is gone from here.

Perhaps I ought to sketch the waitress.

The bill arrives.

The curtains wave us goodbye.