what force draws us
to this particular day
beneath this one
still wet rainsky,
larger than any imagining?
this room where two hours
are spent alone and with.
I arrive
tepid, fragile,
wanting heat wanting to be
surrounded by conversation
not at its center
wanting porcelain-sized
warmth but no more
enough to half-thaw
choosing one particular
unassigned table
prepare
today's eucharist:
coffee, bread,
notebook, pen, library book pile.
I search for words,
let strangers' muted
confessions and explanations,
barista-chosen songs
become
anchor
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