as you pour his tea he sits at the edge of blue leather sofa
as far away as possible
he adds some honey ------stirs slowly teaspoon flashing in the light
picks up cup and saucer with slow steady hands
he’s staring into the tea
when he begins to relate
in carefully chosen words
the intricate pattern of veins on a leaf
how a bee collects pollen from a flower
the play of light and shadow of sun through shutters
the way a cloud moves across the sky
changing shapes
the way a heart can break and never be the same
he puts down the tea with a slight clink on the tray
and is silent
and you are left with a slow sustained sweet sadness
warming
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