moonbeams uninvited,
yet they dance on puddles
at this cafe table, a diary
ink smeared like forgotten memories
an impromptu haven in the open
facing a building, tales buried deep
under the umbrella's shade
ah, there, a nod from a passerby
time-worn tales on the pages spread
my cup holds reflections of the sky.
*
In response to this poem by Boruch Merkur:
https://www.facebook.com/photo?fbid=10159425726325776&set=a.10150412112370776