(nine of cups—aquarian)
This morning’s light
flits shadows,
like a tongue along skin,
over the orchid
on the side table.
Outside the window,
a breeze lightly
ruffles the ivy
on the walls
like cat’s fur.
Today on our walk
around the park,
the dog stopped
frequently
to smell the earth
for rich scents.
Upon our return,
I pour a second cup
of dark roasted coffee,
then sit out on the porch—
to watch the trees
pulse beneath
the cloudless sky
free from metaphor’s
constant desire
for translation.
(August 17, 2023)
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