made a heart of foam in my latte this morning.
I am not sentimental, but I avoided drinking so as to keep it
for awhile.
I sat at a marvelously square table while old friends whispered nearby and I
scribbled something meaningless while the white heart
dissolved—bubbles around it beating—into
the eyes of an owl.
Sometimes these dumb (speechless) things
make our days.
Sometimes I don't even like coffee.
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