Mulling: -- 2. Brewed Coffee

When sun crests the horizon,
revealing trackless desert,
the world rises, cloaked
against the sands of time.

A hot draught against morning cold;
rising wisps of steam dissipate, fly,
the strength of the liquid, they belie.

Surveying a path ahead,
one can sense a rising sirocco
             —is it the heart’s pulse,
                        a force of nature,
            or both, at once?

Contemplating possibilities,
the magic carpet arrives;
one must now rise to the occasion
of exploring the vastness of potential.

© 2013 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

I like to add cardamom, a grating of nutmeg and the barest hint of cinnamon to my coffee. No milk.

How do you like yours?

To see the first poem of this cycle, see this link:
Tea Way