While basking in freed moments
on Saturday and Sunday mornings,
often I watch how coffee and cream mix
in day’s first cup of french-pressed brew.
The quick interchange of colors from dark to light
is magical and mystical, a celebration to beginnings.
In a rush, steam from liquid’s silky surface emerges.
I catch spirit dancers, in mist, swirling above my mug.
Before it all disappears, I catch something else-
how important moments of resurrection are.