You slowly untangle your hair
as the gardenias sink into the bowl.
Then your breath over the black circle of tea
in a stained white cup.
How the yellowed gloves you found still fit
after years in a drawer.
How you meet a shuffling woman in
an empty street, as wind tests
each threshold and doorknob.
And hours later, following the waves
back the way you came, you’ll watch a
surprised man catch fish after silver fish,
the always, then indigo mountains,
north, and continually changing.
©2011 Holaday Mason