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A teaspoon lies idly by its cup.
The cup is thick and white
and wide as half a teaspoon’s length,
Turkish coffee shining thick
and dark inside. Too rich to slick
back down the sides, it holds
the swirl of an unseen hand.
The hand that placed the teaspoon there
has changed its mind, moved on
to bigger things: a touch to comfort
a fretting child, please a lover, make repair
to a broken thing; stopped and taken stock,
gone on to lead a forgotten prayer.
The prayer is gentle. The thought is kind.
Its whisper reaches everywhere.
A teaspoon lies idly by its cup.
It’s hauling light from everywhere:
the brassy shine of a pouring pot,
an unseen hand and all that lies beyond.
It’s cradling the world and crooning
softly, whispering that everything
is going to be all right.