I’m stirring a brew up in my brain – A pinch of hope and a pinch of pain And a broth with the grey of last week’s rain— And the bronze touch of sunshine in someone’s hair, The tightness in my throat when I try not to stare. My fingertips are tap-tap-tapping On the warmth of the ladle Like an audience clapping, For an unknown feat I might do some day (If I get off my ass, if this energy lasts) If I find where it is that I stored the recipe. In a memory-cupboard far away? Or maybe a book of prophecy? I’m all stirred thoughts and muddled feeling, All made of half-smiles and foolish reeling, And pacing across the kitchen floor. There’s a taste still missing and I must get more. There’s a thought escaping which I must make stay. An obvious step I still can’t see.
