Coffee Shop Musing

Sitting in a warm brown
coffee shop
quiet guitar, hiss of steam,
murmur of voice.

Sense of ache
for the words
not coming to this
small square napkin
and borrowed pen.

Puzzled at the potent brew
of calm and uneasy,
peace and turmoil.

Drawn to write,
to capture,
to define.

Missing is the mastery needed
to shape pure emotion
into letters and
express gratitude, confusion
in simple ink.

In awe of the ability
of a glance to pierce through armor,
of the quiet to drown the chaos,
of the earth to tame the air.

Unable to fit
the slow unfolding
of forever
in the hurried urgency
of a week.

Lost in the throws of a question:
How can leaving everything familiar
feel like coming home?

Heeding the call to come back
from revery
by a smile and
an aura's soft glow
of deepest green.

Now back in the
warm brown coffee shop
empty mug and
unread book.

The search for the
right wording unfinished
the quest for understanding
incomplete.