It is easy, and even a given,
that when my father and I
go to our favorite cafe
and I sip tea while he drinks coffee,
we end up talking together
about the things that move us the most.
What is the magic in those golden liquids,
that they should dredge up such deep topics
and set them in conversation between us,
as we sit within a crowd in our favorite cafe?
We talk of what we have been working on.
We talk about projects to be done.
We talk of what the other said yesterday.
About what we have loved lately.
The meaning behind those many loves.
The philosophy of what is love.
The possibility of a god who is love,
or of a wide universe that promotes it.
So, the gentle, ever-flowing liquids,
our tea with a side of coffee,
become the basis for our morning’s conversation,
my father’s and mine, as we sit
in our favorite cafe and bare to each other,
our souls.
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