Sitting alone in this café,
I find unexpected warmth
in the company of
so many strangers.
I recognize these primal embers,
that still emanate from us,
come from the ancient prototype,
and even now we
seek to huddle in packs
in sheltering caves.
Are we not all like a
hand
holding out a coat for the other,
or saving a seat
for friends who
come in from the cold?
Warm seats, warm hearts,
that speak no evil,
nor bear any grudges here,
talk in respectful tones
amidst the reassuring
scent of coffee and
human skin.
It may be that
cities shatter elsewhere,
raging mountains
spew their spleens on
innocent villagers,
and ignominious people
flick lethal switches,
even as joy puckers
the squinting faces of
girls in
innocuous cafes.
But let’s just
lean into this plush embrace
of living kindness,
this gentle, guiltless clatter,
shuffling of chairs
and these pleasures we take
mocking the
infinite, stony universe.
For it clamors at the border,
and disdains the thought
that there is any such thing
as refuge.
