Whose cup? Whose Sky?
We look for shade in the 4th St. bustle
steam rising with the wind. Words too
wend a way between cities, mileposts,
states of mind, pleasant and not.
No color yet. Only sharing. Excitement. Pre-wonder.
Always good to see you my friend ~
We anchor in familiar knowing
soon all will morph into Surreal,
the welcome mandala of our color-lit history,
same universe, different era.
now open your books…
But for this moment, tea tells time in tannins
gold sienna, umbra to brown, mirrored
to the sky, warm to the hands. Trees reach
long fingers from the Nilgiri hills, through a canopy,
over a high wire, and into this cup full of sky.
© 2012 Tara Linda