Grounded I am. Café intimacy: How deliciously to savor. Grounded I am, in coffee. The steam gets out of hand. Whiling the way beside the windowpane. I notice the condensation; It appears on the glass, the window. I am reminded of a dark painting; that’s how it looks to me now. No streetlights, nor semblance of commerce. Small town, just desserts. The cold hearth, cobblestone, these are nature’s dark fury now. No warmth of fire, nor sacral flame. Vanquished all are the bustlin