Just when you're least expecting it
you lift the lid of a boxful of pastries
and there straddling the circles
rectangles and spirals is one
long black hair silence descends
a hand reaches for the strand
plucks it away from the icing
and holds it aloft what more
can one say? Why proceed
further along the dark line
leading us back to the Doctrine
of Signatures to understand
better nay read what the barista
had written only minutes before
with one continuous line of sentiment
what curls what long dashes what
backwards twists and crossed
intentions conveyed by our conveyor
of delights. What expressions
from the espresso presser what
finds among the grinds we
can't resist this line
All morning from sun-up she
encounters the endless parade
across her counter the caffeine
needy who count on that cup
a shot a bit of froth that
bathéd every veyne in swich licour
it is April after all only
this rain has fallen therefore
the mysteries of the morning
shall remain locked up
in that dark filament
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