The glass of the window appeared black,
Its clean surface mirroring
What it looked out on,
The small round table
On which stood a clear glass vase
Holding one red dianthus,
Next which stood a salt cellar
Paired with a pepper grinder.
Behind these sat a thick
White mug of hot black coffee.
Behind this I sat,
Before me rising a serpentine
Cloud of steam off the coffee’s surface.
In all this, only the steam moved,
I saw reflected in the window,
A rower pass, silently, along the river,
Disappearing from view
As he passed behind my head,
As though a thought from my mind
Had become embodied as I watched.