Chipped Teacup Glow

The city's cold, the kettle sings;

The steam curls up like a prayer with wings;

Your hands are tired, your shoulders low;

But the little blue cup starts to glow;

It's cracked at the rim;

Yet it holds you near;

Like a small soft answer to the year;

And the night can wait outside;

While the jasmine drifts inside;

Hold that you're deep;

Close, let the quiet do the most;

After the long shift, after the noise;

Find your breath, find your voice;

In the warmth that you chose;

Oh, that's your teacup close;

The last train hums through the window glass;

While the minute hands keep moving past;

Your apron's hung in the foreboard side;

As the sugar melts and the sparks drift by;

You don't need much when the day is done;

Just a little heat and a setting sun;

And the night can wait outside;

While Jasmine drifts inside;

Hold at your teacup close;

Let the quiet do the most;

Start to launch, shift after noise;

Find your path, find your voice;

In the warmth that you chose;

Hold at your teacup closed;

Maybe healing isn′t love;

Maybe it's dealing halfway through;

Maybe it′s sitting with yourself;

Maybe it's sitting with yourself;

Till the ache is weighted blue;

One small cup, one small pause;

One small heart with a thousand flaws;

Hold at your teacup close;

Let the quiet do the most;

After the long shift, after the noise;

Find your breath, find your voice;

In the warmth that you chose;

Hold that chipped teacup close;

When the day has let you go;

Let the little comfort show;

In a chipped teacup close;