This coffee is like a miracle:
oil-slick black,
thick as night,
a transmutation of water
which has journeyed through deep earth
to emerge, by a secret ministry,
worlds different from before.

Water has lifted out the spirit of the grounds.
They brood together now, darkly locked,
held by a spell that cannot
be reversed.

I drink:
its force is a kick,
a slap of the sea
in a cave,
lapping its secrets of ocean.

I wreathe it round with the burning
of tobacco:
leaf turns to flame turns
to smoke,
rising like an offering,

It stirs in me - like crystals of sugar
revolving, dissolving -
a cry for transmutation.

My body and my mind are soothed,
are roused - strangely both -
but what can reach my spirit?

The wind rattles at the window,
there is a stirring abroad…

God, or spirit, or presence,
how can I pass my spirit through you,
fuse myself into something new?

Like coffee, like smoke, I cry,
transmute my spirit too.

by Mark Hamilton

Other poems of HAMILTON (9)

Comments (1)

This small smidgen she glances. Out the window through the trees. Oh sad this short tale it's gone. This happy story that most would call youth...iip