Café de manhã

Reading clouds out the café window
in a hoodie and fleece pants
and house slippers,

southern hemisphere
purple black nights
and pink clouds
told us, days ago,

you'd better bundle up.

And the books
have ideas that authors wrote
years ago and thought
even longer ago
and sat and labored
to spell it all out for sleepy
audiences like me.

Wake up and smell the coffee,
be amazed by nature
and life and human fucking beings,
say the authors.

And the clouds?
you should also ask.
Who made those,
and what cryptic message might
they form in your mind
in your heart?

I don't have the answer to that,
says the poem:
for that, you must go
and see for yourself.