The gulps of wet grass are warm on my throat.
The liquor of koicha is a deep green against my pale earthen bowl.
I breathe in deeply
And taste the umami that is sweetly bitter
Like the brief and faded summer.
Skeins in my mind unwind a little,
Made rheumy by an early fall cold.
The sunlight inside wavers in patches.
Its mirror is the soft shudder of leaves
Beyond the windows.
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