I.
The seats are strangely cool
tonight; the tea is not:
it’s yellow-green mass
coddled in white clay.
New sounds splash on the air,
and still there’s quiet inside.
II.
Alone, I watch my step walking
a familiar street in San Rafael.
The air tonight is oolong tea—
glowing lights wrap me up,
and tangled blankets shape the horizon.
The stars of evening shine and I
see them, knowing a moment’s peace.
The seats are strangely cool
tonight; the tea is not:
it’s yellow-green mass
coddled in white clay.
New sounds splash on the air,
and still there’s quiet inside.
II.
Alone, I watch my step walking
a familiar street in San Rafael.
The air tonight is oolong tea—
glowing lights wrap me up,
and tangled blankets shape the horizon.
The stars of evening shine and I
see them, knowing a moment’s peace.
By Jacob Riyeff
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