Jasmine white tea eases off the gold-inflected rush of masculine vibrato.
His forearms come to mean the whole Romantic period. I leave the
precious metal in its case. From kitchen's white, songbirds define
late-spring, in close succession. A pencil moves against the page, fills in
each regulation square. How thin the residue, gentility received from silken
haze. Small sips enfold a choice upon the threshold of becoming
space. A moment to myself. Some syllables, one breath each. No shadow
of the thing. The thing itself. Smooth table, unsourced light, beyond
vocabulary of one tone.
All at once, at once, just this
Sheila E. Murphy