It begins with a spell
siphoned into desert lips
a hundred affirmations
brewed
in a hundred moods
bewitches the tongue
into a bitter feeling of good
I
empty myself
into acidic swallows
of keep going
and let each worry
stain the rim
just as the sun drinks the night
and rises every morning
Arabica goes down easy
and turns bright
this Great Nothing in me
while the cauldron churns
the last sip.
Come,
I’ve kept some
for you.