We find the little extra in them
In coffee circles of our old cups
On a table, piling one on other.
Their bottoms sit on each other
As impressions of spent nights,
Their old erased in part by new.
These are very poems overlaid,
Concentric circles on my body
In a series of my nights piling.
Dog bark grows on the center.
A night’s silence ticks on body.
Body grows away from center.
Coffee circles pile one on other.
Their poems grow from nights
A little extra from the ordinary.