Coffee

In the coffee,
a swirl of steamed milk
opens like a flower
In the morning quiet
of a private garden

 
Matcha

The bitterness of matcha
Is leavened by the bespoke vessel
cradled like a bowl with both hands.

Its generous steaming face invites
A moment to consider the character of the tea
Whose reputation is based on its bitterness.

A rustic, no nonsense glaze
Covers not even half the earthenware cup
Elegantly expressing
The careless grace and humility needed
To accept one’s Fate.

To sip from such a cup
would let one understand
the smooth and rough taste of matcha
with the palms of your hands.

Ah, the clear aftertaste
that follows the swallowing
of bitterness.