Breakfast

I sit here with my cereal
and swear it's water into wine.
Salt swims with milk,
changing the flavor from Honeycombs to you.
See, it spins me
to know how we once were,
to revisit mornings dreaming blue and traveling through Tokyo.
Meanwhile I dip my pen; you
tip your hat to him, the old man on the stoop.
We walked by these windows--remember?
I watched women wring their lives down to the sidewalk below,
and I wrote to will you away.

They say we're into summer now, but my season's been delayed.
I'm still watching winter windows,
and the trees are only just leafing out.
It's summer, but not here--
summer in someone else's city.