It could have been two sips. The sugar cubes
Had at that point dissolved amidst the taste
Of orange blossoms and of cardamom,
And each, like colored panes from stained-glass windows
Stacked one on one with sunlight shining through,
Made something more than its constituent parts,
A new thing, made from those and just those parts.
It could have been two sips. Left with a drink
With little left of it, a lukewarm splash,
I tipped the teacup back to catch it all,
And swallowed hard, and set the teacup down;
The sugar cubes I left upon the plate
Will never be dissolved or tasted now.
It could have been two sips, and then I might
Have sat here for a couple minutes more,
And watched the sunset over distant buildings,
And listened to the neighboring conversations,
Just sitting, doing nothing, going nowhere.
It could have been two sips, but it was one.