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I arrive in a place so familiar to me
A place where I was once young and free
I close my eyes and wait to find
That one being who will never leave me behind.
I look and wait and begin to wonder
Whether this whole idea is just a blunder.
Where is he so strong and bold,
The spirit guide of ancient and old?
I open my mouth and say soft as a sound
"My spirit guide I wish to be found."
I wait beneath the well-known tree
For them to reveal themselves to me.
Time goes by and I begin to say
"Perhaps they have lost their way"
A flash of black stands before me
It's my spirit guide whom I wish to see
But in the shadows he does stay
And then suddenly he is on his way.
I hope desperately for him to return
But first it's patience I must learn.
One day I will meet him around the bend
And then perhaps he will be my friend
Whether I can see him or whether I cannot
I will wait for him in the very same spot.
But for now I learn that he will be
and guiding me.
The Coffee GodThe Coffee God behind the counter shuffles foot to foot, a dance of steam and espresso. Black painted fingernails, inch gauged ears and a gray striped sweatshirt, hood crooked on his back. There's a cigarette tucked behind one ear; it bobs and twitches with each step.
“Non-fat caramel latte,” he calls, just as he always does, part of a spell, part of a mantra, toneless (just a tuck at the end). I reach. He looks up.
The espresso maker hisses.
There's something like a grin, something like a spark, something like a shared secret linked eye to eye. When he passes over the drink (rough cardboard sleeve hot to the touch), he lingers. Our fingers brush, a shiver, a jolt, a ten-watt shock.
The Coffee God tilts his chin, shouts, “Hey, mind if I take my break now?”
and ducks around the counter without waiting for a reply.
He slips his cigarette between his lips without taking his eyes from mine. I follow him out the door.
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