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.