this table, a time machine,
where I have met each morning
since our first acquaintance
when it was acquired many moons ago

each morning, my tea and book,
paper and pen, to-do list,
scrap of poetry, a letter to mail,
time spent in present hours

this table, where my mornings stay,
has looked out upon seasons, now past
landscapes, worlds, years of joy and sadness,
time cycles in its change and recovery

future arrives at this table each morning 
present into past as I sip my tea