I drink my coffee 
and try being present
but my mind
keeps pushing
me somewhere 
I don't want to be,
backward and
forward in time,
an exquisite self torture
more addictive 
than this caffeine
I pour religiously 
into my body 
each morning.

So I focus on
the warmth 
permeating through 
my fingers
from the white 
porcelain cup,
studying the 
rising steam 
in the golden light of
spring street,
as if a benediction 
to each passerby,
walking head down 
into Spring winds 
unaware
of their part in this
morning’s ritual.