POEM - First Cup of Coffee

I would tear out my own tongue –
For that first mouthful of coffee;
When addiction
Rubs impatient eyes
And grows fingers that probe
Deep into a psyche
Mad with slumber!.

This poured life;
This brown honey bean;
This sanctified oblation
That streams inward to cradle me,
Wraps me foot to head
With earthen scents and tones –
Assuages the billions or so shards
Of detail makes Living what it is -

It tells me using a lingua franca
Which needs no translation
That everything -
And I do mean everything -
Is fine –
Just fine.

M C Biegner 7/2005