Poems 0139丨In January丨By Ted Kooser
Only one cell in the frozen hive of night
is lit, or so it seems:
this Vietnamese caf, with its oily light,
its odors whose shapes are like flowers.
Laughter and talk, the tick of chopsticks.
Beyond the glass, the wintry city
creaks like an ancient wooden bridge.
A great wind rushes under all of us.
The bigger the window, the more it trembles.
"Delights & Shadows by Ted Kooser"
Publishied by Copper Canyon Press 2004