Putting moonbeams in my coffee
To make it taste sweet
I step into the fog on the porch
The whole world wrapped in a collective hush

Even from this distance
I can smell the fir trees
Their thick aroma combining
With my dark liquid and clandestine cigarette

I add to the mist surrounding me
As the smoke slips from my lungs
The cold concrete bites my bare feet
Punishment for my quiet sin

I hear the clatter of a canteen on the dock
Followed by a shout, “Damn thing!”
Just an old man heading out for the day
Just as he has done every day

I turn back to the house
Rest my cup on the shelf
Flick ash into the cut glass receptacle
That I took from my grandfather’s house when he died

This quiet morning
Before the day begins
Is my greatest joy
My private ecstacy