I dream of coffee

waking early

strolling through the heart

of the city

 

the birds singing,

the sun warm enough to

roll my sleeves

 

the smell of the bakery

with it's open door

 

powdered sugar

on angel wings

a black espresso 

at a pavement cafe

 

the sun crossing

the street

to embrace our held hands,

 

as good as anything

in the end

 

when our days were

not choked with 

smoke and rubble

 

when a cradled coffee cup

held all the freedom

in the world.