Tea and Symphony

All day the mumbled thunder
rolls across the windowsill;
you sit with orange pekoe under
lemon skies that will not spill.

Ignes fatui flee your cup,
unruffled in the hollow air,
decline your elbow, spiral up
the spindle of your rocking chair.

You take the stillness as a veil,
the silence as a state of grace,
as distant lightning plays a pale
music on your distant face.

Distant music in minor key,
pianissimo, a swallow’s song
that filters from the balcony
as the violins are walking on.