Morning Office

The coffee holds its heat
longer than I do.

Light not yet committed
to the room.

I sit.

Alone, yes.
But not only.

Words worn thin by use
arrive again
with their old authority.

Saints, sinners
indistinguishable now
in the mouth.

I say what has been said.
It says me.

Time passes through
like something testing
what remains.

No answer.

Only this:
a quiet
I can enter,

and not entirely
leave.