Food. II. Morning Coffee.

Coffee Pot
Coffee Pot

Morning Coffee.

Dreams, memories and not.
Familiar faces in strange places
don’t add up.  They linger on
through the morning like damp rain
in my hair.  My morning coffee 
is unsettled with obtuse imagery
and as I move a contrail of dreams
drifts away.  Silently it mingles
with the steam of espresso.  
Memories that come to nothing,
unlike the hot brew scenting 
the early morning kitchen,
drawing other drowsy searchers.

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