On days like this
when winter’s wind sweeps in
my hopes can go astray.

Here the tranquil sunlight wraps us
in its promise, and we sip tea with honey
to sweeten the tongue.

No one bothers us, the tyranny
of the week is gone. If the
world wants to remind of its history
of grievances the voice is muted.
Tomorrow I’ll deal with
my tempest in tea cup storms.

Bright crimson and white blossoms
of geraniums fill the living room window.
Petals fall onto the floor which I collect.

Down the street a traffic light turns red,
if for a moment, dangling
over another precipice.

I don’t know what the future holds,
maybe now I don’t want to
basking in the glow of conversation
we two humans create for our use.

You say,
“It’s clear, perfect. I understand fully.”
I am content and say “Thank you.”
How little is enough.

Stephen Cipot
Garden City Park