by M. Joseph Boehler

rising with the sun,

its amber fingers slip through the glass,

urging me to open the window wide.

warm gold light pours over the quiet kitchen walls.

the crisp air drifts in,

a soft sigh against sheer curtains;

each breath is a whisper

that stirs the stillness of a new day.

from the cupboard i draw a crinkled paper bag,

a modest vessel that harbors a universe of roasted dreams.

i unravel it; the scent erupts like the sunrise itself,

a chorus of earth and fire,

the hidden pulse of countless mornings.

each bean is a single ember,

alive with stories yet untold.

i grind them slowly,

feeling the grains release,

their fragrant dust rising like a veil within the dawn.

the kettle sings,

a hum of anticipation where water meets grounds;

steam curls upward,

spiraling into the room,

mingling with soft light,

its presence like silken threads brushing my skin.

i pour, watching the dark river swirl,

a liquid night.

as the aroma settles into these moments,

it infuses itself into the day,

a fragrant ritual clinging to earth and time.

here, in this instant,

i am both maker and witness,

awakening my world with each gentle sip,

while the vapor mixed air carries a whisper of eternity,

the fleeting now stretched thin,

a bridge between the mundane and the infinite.

the coffee's heat,

the sunrise's glow,

the breath of the world,

all converge in this cup,

reminding me that every ordinary act holds a spark of the boundless,

a quiet invitation to linger

in the space where the tangible meets the transcendent.