P e n c h a n t T a s t e

ballad empty
crawled through
fingers of day
the blue hue
and wet wave

coarse rest
sitting on the
bench with
steaming coffee
while slabs of
office walls
threw the sharp
light and tanned
our disinterest

Lost bliss
in the hot tonic
and that wind
from the cold lake
beyond the
wheat towers
settled our
restless
hearts

and the steady
thrum of the cities
heartbeat
rose up beneath
us