Foam

I think I will buy an espresso machine. The image of roasting and foam and packing grinds makes my mouth tingle.

But of course--I say this. Knowing fine as grain that the process will edge my nerves. The constraint of time.

But things look up. I can smell again. I can see what is ahead. And though there is that tinge of bleakness, ugly, I can scrape the clay off and revel in something else. Some American, dark, and strong.

Maybe I will get that espresso machine.