The Resurrection

Your calloused hands reach out and give to me,

like God reviving one whose almost gone,

a warm blue cup of steaming sanity.

For four quarters you gift me life anon.


your grimy cart: a chariot of heav’n

I stumble wordlessly toward your stand

my heavy lids you find a way to leaven

a drop of life you place into my hand


the burned brew has resurrected me

a singular ingredient unknown,

a final supper brought by only he

my order memorized it has been shown


I know you are a stranger, but its you that I adore

the Adam to my Eve, a sweet concoction that you pour.


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