MORNING COFFEE

He survives the years and faces

departed in early breezes;

there are few now who remember him as a child.

Tears stain everyone.

His skin is smoothed. Fingers once busy

warm in the sun.  His eyes once of youth and feet

born of Mercury, rest willingly.

He sleeps in parts.  Lightly at first and then moving

about, pulling at sheets and blankets as his arms wrestle the

darkness.

He awakens discouraged, wishing to have passed.

He taps his foot on the floor, hearing the sound of alive.

He carefully stands, walks to the kitchen

to make coffee.

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