Tranquility

Tranquility

 He comes during

the rain tonight

for tea

in the tavern.

Smoke rustles

from a crumbled

chimney,

hugged by

slate shingles,

corralled

by copper

gutters. Downspouts

spew spill

from the sky,

chugging over his shoes,

waking his

old feet.

Crooked fingers

find the brass

of the pull

on the door.

It yawns a warm

welcome

and flushes

his chilled face.

The foyer familiar

in its rustic embrace,

as the door

holds the latch

and hugs him inside.

A cap of wool

lifts

from his head,

more sponge

than hat,

it drizzles its hold

atop his sotted shoes.

Forlorn and lost

he looks

in his frock.

He comes for tea

and warmth

from tonight.

He moves as though

he has never done it,

a fawn,

in an old man’s skin.

His eyes wander

as lost pills

of glass.

Stooping, steady

he takes

his seat,

folding himself

beside a tiny table,

no room for two,

just he.

A candle burns

near an orchid

in a jar,

casting shadows

over the silver by his hands.

A risk of smile

finds his face,

the candle lights lost eyes.

He stirs steeping tea

as sure as the moon.

China cup rises

in his fingers

tipping toward

leather lips,

they part

and take it through.

Content in the tavern

tonight in the rain.

GJH 03