At the Edge

Linda Pastan

       we are having tea at the edge of the abyss . . .

       RAYMOND FARINA 

It's a long way down 

 to darkness and fire 

and the wings of night birds 

 making unruly sounds. 

To dismantled clocks. 

 To shoes filled with tears 

and garments torn 

 in boredom and grief. 

But here at the edge 

 of the abyss 

the tea is the amber color 

 of comfort, 

the biscuits are crisp 

 and sweet 

as you feed them to me 

 with loving hands.