Telling: Streams & Logs

At Home with the River Dragon


And still you haven't come.

The steam has left rivulets
down the pane gone black
across the view. I see myself

reflected. I am steeped
in the magics of this making,
fennel and rosemary. You
will smell it in my hair,
I am sure.

Too late now to change

anything. I touch
one finger to the bright
mirrored bowl of your spoon.