Sunlight in the window
a cup of lemon tea.
Nothing is about to happen.
This moment is mine —
I hold it in my hand and say
Yes, this is a new day,
I don’t believe we’ve met before,
then lean on my porch,
pretending to be a man in shirtsleeves, smoking,
or a grandmother resting her years.
I can feel myself fitting into the long corridors
of balcony-loungers all over the city:
we are the gargoyles of the great cathedral.
It is our scrutiny which brings pink
to geraniums, red to the tiles of the roof,
a vivid blue to the ribbons
in a little girl’s hair.
It is our vigilance that fills the air
with breakfast smells, and the memory
of last night’s rain. We are
the attentive ones, the guardians,
drinkers of tea
in the cup of the day.