the amber liquid
pours into the fine
porcelain bowl
swirls and settles

a few leaves dark
and sombre settle
at the bottom
and remain
unfathomable

i drink of it's heady
fragrance
the steam a line of
smoky memory
again i inhale
and again the years
fall away

the first sip
is bitter
tasting of tannin
and loss

the fine china
sings at the touch
of my tongue
and my memory
hums with words
of wisdom and friendship

i drink down to the
recumbant leaves
and the swirl the fortune
twist and tip the cup...
and read the leaves
with the same wonder
as i read the clouds...


unsuprisingly,
the leaves
speak to me of you....
as the scent of smoke and
camelia lingers on the evening breeze