A man sits in the morning

Quiet with black coffee

At the metal cafe table

In a cool summer breeze

Sending scents of petunia

With the sun at his back

He closes his eyes

He is in Lisbon

He is in Tuscany

He is sitting at the rocks

In sea swept Sydney

But

The city is still waking

Breaking his momentary revelry

Yawning at the start of day

As sounds of life creep forth

From the world outside

From the world inside

And he would dance

In the dappled light

If only he knew the steps

So he’ll sit in sacred silence

Imagining the world was real

And all he would do if it was.