A Scent Of Coffee
The moon has interlocked the night in glass.
Trees are no more than dark designs on grass.
The mood of music opens like a flower.
A scent of coffee validates the hour.
One wonders how two shadows can embrace.
For after all, time leaves so little space.
Only the smallest whisper of a word,
Makes old friends know emotion has been heard.
The landscape is a poem memorized,
A fey tune only captured by still eyes.
The light diversified by windowpanes
Diminishes, it may not come again.
Sandra Fowler's Other Poems
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Comments about this poem (A Scent Of Coffee by Sandra Fowler )
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