Two saucers, cups and spoons and plates
upon the table,
neat and sweet
for two,
you,
I-
I
Wait
for two
hours, too long,
and there is no tea
that can burn as bitter as this.


And within my quickening madness the shout breaks out:
though there are no centres to hold,
there are always hands
reaching out
to touch,
grab,
lift.