Lapsang Souchong
(for J.W.V.R.)

I’ve been drinking a tea made of smoke
reading about the trickster
from someone who knows those stories
but doesn’t often let on.

There’s been a cold rain
and a northeast wind that’s brought back
a lion to April’s end.

Out the window past my mug
two doves sit in the swamp white
(wisely holding tight buds).

One’s hard to make out
low and darkly wet
the colors of branches and storms.

The other sits tall and looks
like the doves on a sunny day;
maybe the trickster knows
where it’s been hiding out.

This tea was Bill’s favorite —
haven’t seen him in years.
I wonder if he still keeps bees
and is handy with a smoker.