Stirring Emptied Cups

There are birds here

There and now in then,

I can see them

Could watch beaks and eyes,

But then and now still

I can't hear their souls

Or yet perceive flight.

There still be flowers

Here and there,

Sometimes in when,

I could look at them

Can caress their petals,

But now and then

I couldn't smell their being,

Still can't sense their colour.

I sit inside and out there

Having held my empty cup,

I had seen it's clay

And known it's every crease,

I drank from it

Then and till now,

I sip it's subtle content

Here and again will,

In slowing trickles

Spill onto paper,

To begin my wait

For visited reflection.

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