The tea leaves keep trying to read me.
Tannin rich waters prevent a clear view of my face.
Every time they see a pattern
a tangent thought disrupts the future.
A thrasher runs across the yard.
A bunny-shaped cloud shifts to dragon.
Each time I swallow a mouthful of tea
the leaves’ perspective of my face changes.
They guess correctly that I hide
my earthly experience from them.
They spot and interpret my ranging emotions
at the corners of my eyes.
This public place is not good for fortune telling.
No spiritual path corrections occur.
No long held pains infuse the air.
No closets unlocked.
The tea leaves keep trying to read me.
Now down the gullet with the last drop.
copyright © 2019 Kenneth P. Gurney
