Time in a Cup

Time takes refuge in a cup of cold coffee,
an afternoon that has learned patience.
Every sip stretches the minutes, polishing them like polished glass,
and the table holds the breath of stopped clocks.
The questions take on steam’s hue, small clouds upon the rim.
They ask why the present slows when the cold arrives.
Perhaps time listens, perhaps gazes into the table’s mirror,
and the answer remains light, dissolving in coffee’s scent.