First day of fall feels like first day of fall
Something right with the World Standing on ATM line
West 12th Village morning brittle breeze tiny man in overcoat
In front of me pivots, remarks
            Be-you-tea-full day
            Day of Beauty I allow
The World in the Wind
Stops for a red light
Crisp money spits from machine, hot
Off the press, twenties salt the air, take flight
            Like to visit? he asks, hopeful eyebrows
I follow his hat up stairs through locks
Cramped musty, a crowd of paintings, golden
Light says “Time” infusing his face
The Hudson swims low in the sun
We huddle round the samovar
He brought
From Russia
Bone china cup
            For you
            Glass tea
For him

Our faces intermingle in the silver curves
The tea he serves is the tea in Beautiful