I walked by the water too early today. Waiting in the dark for a profound thought, for the famed barista to wake up. Try as I might to be washed over with divine grace in this faraway place, I thought of mathematics curriculum in the United States, I thought of croissants and raisins. At long last, Coffee Temple on the cliff opens. My notebook wet, with sand in it, I want to tell you about the first song. On the way here. In the dirty road, two hundred birds in the dark coconut trees, the laundry hanging still, and everybody asleep except whoever made this fire. The bellowing prayers in the distance, in rhythm, I swear, with these bird bird birds. The bells. There must be, my flashing thought, a composer.
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