I’m putting the tea to boil…
finding a spot on the earth in which to sink,
a heart string to play, my mind to think
and untangle a knot of toil
I’m putting the tea to boil
Something warm to come
porcelain cups and waiting lips
hibiscus leaves and rose hips
within the heart a thrum
stirs a ripple in a steeping conundrum
My last verse has gone missing
it’s sound, sans words, lost in half slumber
so half awake, and torn asunder,
by answers hissing then bristling
then comes the awaited harmony of a kettle whistling
