The steam from my coffee rises, blowing to the left
the draft from the door opening in the wind
lifts it up like lips blowing smoke sideways.
The trees outside dance behind the dirty glass pane
they play, tossing needles to the north
bending branches to the east;
the rain pelts down.
An elderly woman puts on her hat, all black
her rain shells drenched and dark
her patchwork hands push gently on the door.
I want to drink my coffee slowly, walk
the streets slowly, spend
my life moving more slowly;
teach me to pause, absorb, overflow.
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