Steam billows out in cloudy breaths of warmth
as spices glide together, downward bound,
like stars dissolving into the watery sky of
perpetual changes and shifting eternity.
The black crisp scent of cardamom overwhelms
the fragile cup until fresh cream is ushered
in as a companion to the dark, which takes the
white, creamy swirls and makes it nature’s art.
The spirals of white travel upward as the black recedes
and, through this dance, a fresh sky is made. And then—
the cup is drained.
Yet, for one brief moment, everything surrenders to serenity
and all of life is held in a smooth china saucer filled with tea.
—NaPoWriMo poem #5