The air sings as you walk by, rearranging the day,
opening and closing doors,
stretching a smile where it rushes to the horizon and kisses the pink blushing
under billowing clouds.
Breath comes alive then – not as necessity,
hums a melody familiar and new, indistinct, hovering at the edge of the lake,
rising and falling like swells through the reeds.
Sun unburdened by the cover of night
awakens, stretches and ascends.
It flares the dew-strewn grass, quivering in the breeze,
each shudder catches fire – diamonds dancing.
A rush of steam, a whistle,
the fragrance exotic.
Rolled, roasted, a sabled balm pulverized and coaxed, pressured to an ebony draught.
A black cup envelopes, traps and sustains aromatic warmth.
The grass shivers.