Third Nocturne

Febuary 2004

If Night can be distilled into a cup of coffee
On a chipped, stained plate,
Then let it sit undisturbed –
A universe with a closed gate.
A cube of sugar slowly liquefies
Into fragments of crystal moments,
Feeding Memory of the night
And then, all forgotten…
But the moon remains in the sea of dimmed light,
Bathing in delight.

A silver spoon sits impatiently beside the cup,
Being carelessly picked up.
The calm night sky whirs in circles,
And the moon disperses into
Pieces of a shattered jar
Of Memory, of thoughts from afar.
The aroma of the coffee
Disturbs the Divine drinker,
Confuses the instincts of the thinker
And disrupts the sequence of time.
Memory of the sublime
Past becomes the present.
The aroma seems to recall
The fervent touch
Of the intoxicated lips
It once had with the night,
And the gentle burn,
As memory is stirred,
That is marked on the flesh of your palm
And engraved in the bottom of your mind.

The night is yet too sweet
For lips to meet.
Put down the silver spoon,
Recollect the silver moon,
But add a bit of milk
And clouds move through the night sky
Clouding the Divine eye.
Stir again…
Do you recall the first cup of coffee I made you?
If you shall thirst for coffee,
Then let your lips touch my memory,
And drink another cup.