steam erupts like Old Faithful
from a man’s coffee cup
a golden grey mist of promise
on a morning seeking its fill
we, yes me, we are old and older
than once we were
fattened mutton sitting at benches
far from the days of the lamb –
contemplating
bringing the world inside us
for safe keeping
till the forge is re-fired
and we can spill it shiny
from the wells within ourselves

we are not rheumy eyed
we are not tired
we are rundown prophets at rest
awaiting abundance