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Morning Coffee

I like the cold rooms of autumn, sitting
early in the morning at an open window,
or on the roof, dressing-gown drawn close,
the valley and the morning coffee glowing--
this cooling, that warming.

Red and yellow multiply, but the green
wanes, and into the mud the leaves
fall--fall in heaps,
the devalued currency of summer:
so much of it! so worthless!

Gradually the sky's
downy grey turns blue, the slight
chill dies down. The tide
of day comes rolling in--
in waves, gigantic, patient, barreling.

I can start to carry on. I give myself up
to an impersonal imperative.

-Gyorgy Petri