There’s coffee on the pot,
dear.
an erratic rain
sifts salt shaker
from the sky
the water gathers on the leaves
intrepid,
it crashes melodic peaceful
to the seeds.
I’m reminded of you,
a mug to keep your hands warm
those days-
perched at our red 1950’s table
cardigan wrapped by the
rain race track window.
eyes; a pensive Atlantic.
staring across the
stream showered city
I take a sip from my cup
you bought me long ago
along those Boston streets
and smile.
You were my moon, my reveries,
and the moments in between
I wish you well-
