Sweet Flower Tea
Somewhere in China
chrysanthemum flowers bloom in hot water,
white and yellowy
steeping sweetness.
I can picture it clearly,
the bicycled girls and buildings
strangely arching
His lips wet with cooled tea
He has read his fortune in the soggy leaves
and the current soil
seems not unpleasant.
I sit idly in the past,
while somewhere in China,
it’s tomorrow.
It is early here, but
he is going to bed now,
probably not alone.
The small apartment, with a place for his kettle,
his sparse collection of hats.
I am having my first coffee of the day
as he is putting his arms around
a girl from Barcelona,
kissing her with flower-sweet breath
and sinking into the night