and a face turns
to the streets of enterprise
There beyond the smeared glass
rain drips over the sheltered places,
a seamless grey world
that haunts ambition,
the muted toll of tomorrow
that never comes
Still there
is a quiet contentment
in the faces of coffee-shop thinkers
Mindful sorting out
gives birth to intention
A pause in industry
is the mortar of creativity,
a place to brood over fools
and workplace woes,
sanctuary to the somber days
A gift of solitude and hot steam
where the soul is restored
in the depths of passion
and the day yearns for itself
through the crying panes
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