Morning Specter

January 25, 2012

By Jari Thymian

These coffee beans,
crushed to small flecks,

forgot their former shape and texture,
but rise at daybreak to the glass observatory

seeing flashes of light
in geysers of hot water,

percolating, rising lively,
saying, “Wait, wait,” wanting

to float in the spectrum,
stretch the wavelengths

before sinking, pulled by undertows,
to the filter for rejuvenation,

where color and character
sweep through porous membrane,

flavoring the warm ocean,
where they willingly surrender
to new vessels.

This poem previously appeared in Buckle & magazine. Jari Thymian’s poetry has appeared in Open Windows 2005, Buckle &, The Christian Science Monitor, Ekphrasis, Wild Plum, The Pedestal Magazine, and in various anthologies. Poems are forthcoming in The Progenitor and Poetry Motel. She is a life coach and teacher in Aurora, CO.

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