Coffee, Snow

Blessèd bits of texture –
sit across with me
from snowing New York City
(out the window
on Sixth Avenue) – Cosi,
café, a private booth –
alone: at seven-thirty

in the morning, smack
inside the dawning
of the public day: the truth
is we are sweetly
and assiduously scattered –
gazes tethered tenderly
between the soft embracing

sway of pearl-and-diamond
crystal gray outside
and the evoking stoking
of a fire inside
the mise-en-scène
now magically sensed,
warmly rendered: clear –

engendered – here –
with me: conjuring our
fantasy: which is odder now –
this scavenged privacy? –
or what is fleecing
out the door? Why have we
not met like this before?


.